Gravity Gone
by BFTLandMWandSEK
Summary: Somewhere lost in the clouded annals of history is a place only few have seen, a mysterious place meant only for those who are lost. Two twins born into mystery sought this land for the lost. But they do not realize that what is meant for the forgotten can never be found. That reward is reserved for those who stray from their path and travel through the wood. UPDATES EVERY FRIDAY.
1. Into the Unknown

**Chapter 1: Into the Unknown**

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><p>Somewhere lost in the clouded annals of history is a place only few have seen, a mysterious place meant only for those who are lost. Whispers of such a place—this land called "The Unknown"—are told to the attentive ears of those eager to learn about what does not exist. It is told to those too young to realize that what does not exist cannot be found.<p>

"…Dipper?"

Two twins born into mystery sought this land for the lost. Like countless others, they had scourged the pages of ancient books to unveil the truth of the Unknown, to make but a dream reveal what they had long lost in reality.

"Dipper?"

But they failed to realize the truth. You cannot find what is meant for the forgotten. That reward is reserved for those who stray from their path and travel through the wood.

"Dipper!" Mabel's feet carried her further down the dirt road, one riddled with overgrown tree roots, as she cupped the corners of her mouth and called out again. "Dipper! Where are you?" Her voice echoed between the lines of ancient oaks and leaning birches, alerting a flock of birds to flight. Mabel paused in her steps, watching them with russet eyes as they soared through the canopy. The birds cawed their disgust.

Mabel shivered, looking around her. Nowhere between the thin, ground-hugging fog and streaks of bright moonlight could she see the brown head of her twin. It was not like Dipper to play a sudden game of Hide 'n Seek. That was her thing. It was Dipper's job to call out to her in an annoyed voice and demand for her to stop playing around. She forced a chuckle, trying to lighten the darken mood. Maybe Dipper found something strange and ran off to study it. He was probably waiting for her in the car.

Now that she thought about it, she did not remember leaving the car. She couldn't even remember why she was in these woods to begin with. Her memory was blank, save for two undeniable facts— first, she had a twin brother named Dipper, whom she went on various paranormal investigations with. The memories of their single summer together in Gravity Falls and the book they had found there were faint at best. She knew that those precious details were there and fighting to be remembered, but she could not say for sure what exactly happened.

The second fact was the more bizarre one: she must never take off the glove on her left hand. She knew that hidden beneath the bedazzled fabric on was something no one should ever see, but she could not remember what or why.

She looked around, checking to see if she was alone. The dim lighting revealed not a person, not even those pesky birds. She stared at her glove. She could barely make out the bedazzled heart she added to it years ago. The fake jewels shone in the moonlight, glistening like precious gems. Mabel pinched the tip of the glove and began to pull it off.

"_Come wayward souls…"_

Mabel jumped, brown curls bouncing, searching for the source of the baritone voice. Her heart banged against her ribcage. The song seemed to be coming from all directions around her, wrapping its dark melody around her body. She stood in silence, afraid to move as she listened.

"_Who wander through the darkness,_

_there is a light for the lost and the meek."_

Her eyelids dripped downwards as she was pulled into a bottomless trace.

Dipper was nowhere in these woods, she realized. She must have become too obnoxious for him. He must have left her behind on purpose. He was the smart, logical one. He didn't need her anymore—he never needed someone so goofy and immature. Mabel let her chin fall to her chest. She was surprised that he didn't abandon her sooner.

"_Sorrow and fear are easily forgotten…"_

But Dipper would have never let her wander off alone. They were twins and he would never betray her. Even if he did leave her behind on purpose, it would be because he thought it would have been better for her. To keep her safe from _his_ recklessness. Mabel's eyes struggled to open again, but a drowsy force demanded for her to keep them shut. Still, she fought on until she could see a slim sliver of vision.

"…_when you submit to the soil of the earth."_

Brilliant white eyes stared at her as a dark figure, one hard to distinguish in the surrounding darkness, finished off the last notes of its song. A hand dripping with darkness reached out towards her.

Mabel snapped back to her senses, yelling as she stepped away. She toppled to the ground, sending flashes of pain up her arms. In panic, she tried to kick her legs at the creature, but they refused to move. She looked down at them, her breath hitching in her throat. Spindly branches twirled around her legs like vines, holding them in place as orange leaves sprouted from them. As if under a spell, they wrapped higher up her body as a stray branch reached for her gloved hand.

Mabel screamed, snapping her hand away. She clawed the branches, becoming more and more agitated when the branches continued their binding undisturbed.

The dark creature laughed as the wood twisted around her hips, holding her in place. She looked up at it, knowing that the unchanging gleam of its eyes were somehow more victorious looking. She couldn't let it win. She was Mabel Pines and she not going down without a fight. The Mystery Twins _never_ give up.

She searched the ground around her, finding a sharp stone. Grinding her teeth, she raised it far above her head and brought it down sharply. The stone cut through the first branch. Mabel struck another one, happy that they were so thin and so easy to break. She was afraid that she wouldn't be able to cut through all of them before her arms were captured, but she found that the more she sliced through, the less the branches attacked. A few strikes and they stopped coiling around her. They paused in place.

"There's no point in resisting," the creature said, stepping towards her. Its voice was booming. It was elegant to the ear, dripping with the stuff that can hollow the heart of all hope. "The edelwood will consume you and—"

Mabel rolled her eyes, moving her free hand like a mouth. "Blah, blah blah. Whatever. I just wanna find my brother."

"Your brother abandoned you."

Mabel brought the stone down again, this time weakening the hold enough to pull a leg free. She gave a sideways glance down the path. It sloped downwards, cutting the lower half out of view. What she did see looked free of any bizarre monsters and sudden dead ends. "You obviously don't know Dipper like I do," she said, cutting through the branches on her other leg. "He would never leave me behind."

The creature's eyes bulged. "Are you sure?"

Mabel grinned, clutching the stone close to her palm. "We're twins—" She threw the stone at the creature, causing it to sweep to the side. She pulled a leg free and kicked the rest of the branches away. The creature hissed as she scrambled back to her feet. She ran down the hill, calling out behind her, "And twins don't abandon each other!"

She looked at the path again in time to realize that her foot had snagged on a tree root. She fell and hit the ground at high speed. She didn't stay there for long. Pain nipped at every inch of her body as she tumbled down the hill. Her clothes ripped. Twigs tangled in her hair. The jewels on her glove chipped away. She couldn't tell which way she was going, or if her eyes were even working anymore. All she could see was the turn of dark colors as the pain increased more and more before stopping suddenly.

Mabel felt the coolness of water creep up her arms as her consciousness ebbed away.

She could have sworn she heard the ominous opera singing once again as she finally fell into a quiet sleep.

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><p><strong>MW: <strong>I said that I was going to post this later, but I'm sick and desperate for something that will make me feel better. Plus, I have six of these super short chapters prewritten, so I should be able to do weekly updates no problem now.

I have a lot of "goals" for this fic and I'll mention them when they come up. This chapter, you can see the main goal, which is to have Mabel be the hero of the story. A lot of times in OTGW/GF fanfictions, Dipper is the main dude for whatever reason. Here is Mabel's chance to be the hero.

That's about it. Thanks for reading!

**No Notes**

**Thank you for reading. This will have weekly updates on every Friday. Make sure to come back and read this every week. For more of my writing stuff, check out my writing blog "**_**aphwriter" **_**on tumblr! **


	2. Auntie Whispers

**Chapter 2: Auntie Whispers**

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><p>"You are very lucky, child, that I had found you." Mabel watched the large woman pour hot water from a metal kettle into a tea cup. She felt out of place in her patched-up pair of jeans and crop shirt, especially when she compared herself to the archaic look of the woman's cottage and the woman's old fashion clothes. The bottom floor, which contained a few pieces of simple furniture and a fire hearth, was maybe five long strides long. The dank attic she had woken in ten minutes earlier was half that length. Only the glow of the fire and a single lantern on the table lit the room, casting the majority of it in shadows.<p>

The woman, the one who found Mabel in the woods, took up the majority of the cramp space. Mabel did not know how it was possible for someone to have such enlarged features, enlarged to the point of being grotesque, but her savoir managed to have them. Teeth like white blocks revealed themselves when the woman smiled as she placed the cup before Mabel. Mabel wrapped her blanket closer to her shoulders, accepting it with gratitude. She hoped that the woman would give her a chance to pull the sticks from her bush of hair.

"You could have drowned in that river…" The woman continued, undisturbed. She sat in the chair across from her, taking an abnormally skinny arm from her coat and sticking it into a nearby basket. Mabel watched her pull out a black turtle. "Or worst."

Mabel flinched as the woman began to devour the pour creature. "Thank you," she said awkwardly, trying not the notice the already existing pile of empty black shells on the table. Poor turtles. She liked turtles, even if her parents never let her keep one. "I don't know how I can repay you, Miss—"

"You may call me Auntie Whispers," the woman interjected in her low monotone. She reached for another turtle. "Drink your tea, child. There are herbs within that will help you recover from the Beast's hold."

"The Beast?"

"Yes child. The Beast." Auntie Whispers turned towards the window, a worried look crossing over her gargoyle face. Mabel would have thought that a woman with such over exaggerated features would have a more noticeable look, but the expression was barely present, slight like the gradual change of the moon. "He wanders through the woods looking for lost souls. He turns them into edelwood trees and uses the oil to burn his lantern. I heard his song when I found you. Did you meet him, child?"

Mabel placed her hands on the sides of her cup, casting her eyes down at the dark liquid. Her reflection revealed a damaged face whose various cuts and scratches were covered by white bandages. The white eyes of the creature she saw in the woods bore through her memory, sending a new wave of shivers down her body. "I think so. But why is he after me? I just got here!"

"You answer yourself. Many people not from around here travel these woods all the time. Some find what they are looking for. Some stay. Then there are some who are met with an unfortunate fate. The Beast preys on those who cannot find what they seek and steals their hope away. You are lucky you escaped." Auntie Whispers looked at her again. "You should drink, child. You will heal faster if you do."

Mabel lifted the cup to her lips and took a long drink. It tasted like a disgusting mixture of mustard and baking soda. She thought she was going to barf. Holding a hand to her mouth, Mabel forced herself to swallow. She strained a smile. "Delicious—"

"You do not need to lie to me, child. I know the taste well."

She placed the cup to the side, dreading the next gulp she was going to have to take. "What's this place exactly?" She asked. "Am I in a parallel universe? Down the rabbit hole? The mindscape?"

"I know not of parallel universes or mindscapes," Auntie Whispers replied, making Mabel realize that she had no idea what a mindscape was either. Why she mentioned it, she did not know. It just seemed right to her. "All I know is the name of this land: the Unknown. Have you heard of it, child?"

"Sounds familiar," Mabel said. She felt as though her knowledge of the Unknown were fighting to cross the block in her brain, but none actually surfaced. She wondered how long she would be stuck with this amnesia, and if she will ever recover from it. "I actually can't remember a lot about myself."

"That is normal. Your memories will return soon." Auntie Whispers leaned back in her chair, suddenly looking content. "My dear Lorna was like you once. A long time ago I found her dressed in strange attire and took her in as my own. She came to remember who she was, but she decided to stay here with me."

"Where is she, by the way?" Mabel asked, looking around the mucky cottage. Nowhere in the light of the fireplace or the shadows it caused could she see another girl.

"She works now for the Duke Endicott a two week journey away. She did not want me to work and knew the Duke's nephews well."

Mabel sat a little straighter in her chair, curious. "Nephews?"

"Gregory and Walter Endicott, though most call them Greg and Wirt. They were two travelers much like yourself who saved my dear Lorna from an unspeakable curse. They never found what they were looking for, but they were taken in by Quincy Endicott and made the heirs. Many like them, especially the eldest. He seeks to rid the Unknown of the Beast, though he has found little success."

"So he's like an expert guy," she said to herself. He sounded like her brother, down to the obsession with the paranormal. "Do you think he'll know where my brother is? I'm sure he came here with me, but I lost him somehow."

"There is a slight chance, but it is likely the Beast has laid his eyes on him. The Beast also has his eyes on you. You must stay here where you will be safe until you remember who you are and what you are looking for."

"I know what I'm looking for," Mabel said testily. "I'm looking for my twin, so I have to leave ASAP."

Auntie Whispers stared at her with her feline eyes. The gaze was emotionless and said nothing of what thoughts may have been crossing her mind. Mabel refused to let it unnerve her. She returned it with a determined glare of her own, as if to scream that she was not about to leave Dipper alone to deal with the Beast.

At last, Auntie Whispers shook her head. "I see that I cannot persuade you, child." She rose, motioning for Mabel to follow her to a chest in the corner. "If you are to travel through the woods, you must hide yourself from the Beast. You must change your garb into something normal." Auntie Whispers lifted the wood cover and began to shift through the folded clothes inside. "I believe the clothes of those who have been devoured may fit you…"

Mabel chose to ignore the questionable source and looked into the chest. All of the clothes matched the early twentieth-century vibe of the Unknown, especially a pair of long black slacks. She picked them up, holding them before her legs to check the size.

A sly smile appeared on her face. She may not be the strategist Dipper was, but she did have her own flair for disguises. "Auntie Whispers, if you're looking for a girl, who's the last person you'll expect?" The woman looked at her as she grinned and held up the pants. "A boy."

A few days later—as Auntie Whispers had insisted Mabel waited until she was back in full health—Mabel waved farewell to the mysterious woman. Her hair was cropped close to her neck and her face was shielded by a downward-tipping hat. She wore the pair of slacks, though she needed suspenders to hold the ends above her ankles. An oversized coat that Auntie Whispers said was from "one of the devoured" hanged off her small shoulders and was the same worn brown color as her laced boots (again, another trinket from the devoured). The glove around her left hand, one simple and black, replaced the old bedazzled beauty. It burned in last night's fire with the rest of her old clothes.

A knapsack filled with food hanged against her back as she called out one last goodbye. "Thank you, Auntie Whispers! I'll pay you back someday for all this!"

Auntie Whispers gave a small wave back, saying, "Farewell, child. May you find your brother. Beware the Beast."

Mabel strained a smile as she set down her path away from the cottage and into the midday gleam of the woods, confident that she will find Dipper before the worst came.

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><p><strong>MW: <strong>This is a really short chapter that is really just filled with exposition. The next two are also kind of like that due to how I wrote this. I came up with this story with the idea of it being separated into episodes and, in order to keep this as short as possible, each chapter is a scene from each episode. So that also kind of explains why this chapter started off with a bit of a time skip.

I'm going to go work on my thesis paper now. Thank you to everyone who favorited, followed, and reviewed. It means a lot to me. I'll see you again next week.

**No Notes**

**Thanks for reading! Main Character #2 comes in next week. **


	3. By the Bridge

**Chapter 3: By the Bridge**

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><p>"Hey there," Mabel said, deepening her voice to sound like the over exaggerated baritone of a man. She held out a hand as she continued walking, speaking to an imaginary person. "I was wondering if you've seen another guy that looks just like me around here." She smiled, waiting for her imagination to reply.<p>

The two weeks she had spent walking through the woods were dull, and she had taken up the habit of talking aloud to herself to fill the dead air and, more importantly, practice speaking like a guy. The other travelers she had met seemed convinced of her act, though none of them had seen anyone who sounded like Dipper. She refused to lose hope, though. She knew that Dipper had to be out here, somewhere between the leaning trees of the Unknown.

She pressed her lips. She still could barely recall anything about her past. Sometimes, she received flickers of a memory- the changing sunlight inside a moving car, the tune of an old radio –but anything beyond that was a complete blank. Perhaps the secret to finding her brother laid in those forgotten memories and if she could only access it…

A breeze sent dead leaves scratching against the dirt road. A few birds cawed in the distance. Bushes twitched with the scurry of animals. Everything around her felt alive, and yet...

Of course, there was still the matter of her single gloved hand. She dared not take it off in the openness of the woods, but she had seen what lied under the worn leather when she had done her disguise at Auntie Whisper's cottage. It was a tattoo sketched on the corner of her hand. Although the innocent image reeked of forbearance, it was nothing mysterious or paranormal. It was only a blossomed Baby's Breath with unfurled white petals. In the dim lighting of the cottage, she had noted that the flower was in line with a freckle on the opposite end of her hand, but she didn't think much of it then. Now, in the loneliness of the woods, she wanted to look at the comforting design, but a voice in her head warned her against it. She had not taken off the glove since she first put it on and she had the feeling that was the right thing to do.

"You don't care much for conversation, do you Squeakers?" Mabel looked up ahead, realizing that she was coming upon a bridge that spanned over a shallow river.

A white-faced girl with a hooked nose sat by a drinking horse, her legs tuck beneath her. Her hands stayed before her on her lap, tied together at the wrist. The rope chapped her skin as it lead from her like a leash to the gloved hand of her captor.

Mabel paused in her steps.

The captor was a tall man, lean bodied and haughty in stature. He balanced against a nearby tree, flicking the cuffs of his bright yellow coat. The color matched his hair impeccably. Black dress shoes and slacks gave the hue an extra smack to the eyes. Strong jawed and crooked nose, the corners of his crafty smirk threatened to touch the edge of his triangular eye patch. Mabel stared at him for a long moment, feeling as though she had seen the elegant man somewhere in her life before.

She did not have much time to think about it. The man continued speaking, unaware that he was being watched. "I'm not a big fan of it either, but you should do best to speak when you are spoken to."

The girl looked at the man with fearful eyes, her throat muscles contorting as she swallowed. Her lips moved as though she was talking, though Mabel couldn't hear what she said.

Neither did the man. "Speak louder," he barked, yanking on the rope. The girl fell forward, her face dragging in the soft mud

She lifted her head, daring to glare at the man. "My name is not Squeakers," she said, spitting the mud from her mouth. "It's Lorna."

The man's lips pursed in contempt. "Well, _Lorna_." He placed his foot on her head, forcing her back into the mud. She struggled to lift her face away, if only to breathe, but he did not relent. Rage flared in Mabel's chest and, not caring that she had no means of defending herself, ran towards the man. "If you address me with such disrespect again—"

"Hey!" At first the man seemed not to care that a lonely traveler was interrupting him, but when he saw the face of the approaching girl, his brows shot up his forehead in surprised. Then, just as she was upon him, he gave the slyest look of pleasure. Mabel tried to ignore it, but something about his new wave of confidence disturbed her. "What do you think you're doing?" She demanded, pushing him off Lorna.

He stumbled away, lifting his arms in surrender. It seemed sarcastic—that is, if gestures could be so. "Calm down, Miss. I was only teaching this servant girl a lesson."

Mabel knelt down to her, gently helping her out of the mud. "You don't need to be abusive while doing it," she snapped back. "Just who do you think you are?"

The man swept an arm through the air as he bent into a low bow. "Bill Cipher, at your service," he said. Mabel pulled out the handkerchief Auntie Whispers had made her and used it to clean Lorna's face. She had a scarce second to wonder if this was the same Lorna that the large woman had cared for when the full impact of the name hit her.

Bill Cipher.

She could not say for sure why the name made sweat prick the back of her neck, or why she felt the need to grab a weapon for defense, but something about the name definitely triggered an instinct. Why that impulse came to be, she was not sure.

Bill watched her clean Lorna's face for a moment before quite suddenly becoming occupied with his nails. "What, may I ask, brings such a fragile girl wandering through the woods alone?" he asked. Mabel jolted with shock, realizing all too late that she had forgotten to use her man voice. "Aren't you afraid of the Beast?"

Mabel grimaced, standing to her feet. "Everyone in the Unknown knows that the Beast only preys on those who lose hope," she sneered. "And, if you are from the Unknown, you would know that I am not a girl. I'm a man."

"You don't sound like one—"

"Puberty is a bitch."

"Then, you are nothing more than a boy." Bill threw Mabel the rope. "Take it. You can return Squeakers here to Duke Endicott for me. Just tell him to stop sending suitors to my cousin. She is not, and never will be, interested in a Beast-obsessed freak like himself." He sauntered past Mabel, bumping his shoulder into hers as he went. She watched him pull his spotted horse from the stream and mount it with a jaunty swing of the leg.

He grinned at her again and, though it seemed to be from complete benevolence, his eyes gleamed with something vicious. "I'll see you again, Shooting Star." He whipped the reins before she could react and galloped back through the woods, not losing speed until he was out of sight.

Shooting Star. She felt like that named belonged to her, and not because Bill Cipher had the audacity to call her it. Somewhere in the three syllables was another memory that she could not reach, another link to a life that she could not remember. Mabel knew that she had been wishing for clues, but for two of them to appear from the same ruthless man made her weary.

"Thank you for saving me," Lorna said as she cleaned her face of the last of the mud. She looked down at the handkerchief, exclaiming. "My! I know this needlework well. Auntie Whispers gave you this."

Mabel smile, kneeling next to the hook-nosed girl once more. "Yeah. She helped me out a while ago." She smiled. "I'm Mabel, by the way. You must be Lorna."

"Aye, I am Lorna. Though I never met a boy with such a feminine name before."

Mabel laughed. "No, I'm actually a girl. I'm just pretending to be a boy. Here." She gave Lorna her hand and helped the girl back to her feet. Mabel reached into her knapsack and pulled out a dinner knife. In retrospect, she should have used this against Bill Cipher. "I'm trying to find my brother, Dipper," she said as she cut away the rope. "Have you seen a moody teenager who just happens to have the same face as me?"

Lorna shook her head. "Nay, I have not." The rope fell to the ground and she rubbed her red sore wrists. "Will you come with me to Endicott Manor?" she asked, checking the bag hanging off her shoulder. "It is a few hours' walk away and I would much enjoy the company."

"Of course I'll come with you, bro." Mabel lightly punched her shoulder, earning a nervous laugh. "I was planning on heading there anyways. Figured good old Endicott would know something about my brother."

"The Duke himself would not know much," Lorna said, waiting for Mabel to throw her bag over her shoulder once more. When she did, Lorna extended a hand and led her across the bridge. "He is, as they would say, 'off his rocker.' Unless your brother has an association with the Beast, Wirt would not know either."

Mabel puffed her cheeks. "Well I'm _hoping_Dipper avoided the creeper," she muttered. Wirt Endicott was her only lead and she didn't know what she would do if it was a dead end. Auntie Whispers only gave her enough food to last the journey to the Endicott manor and Mabel had politely declined any monetary donations. She could only cross her fingers and pray that there was some news of Dipper waiting for her at the end of this road.

She realized that Lorna was giving her a concerned look, forcing her to return to her previous happy expression. "Say, what were you doing with that Bill Cipher jerk anyways?" she asked, skipping over a tree root.

A frown etched onto Lorna's face. She looked at the ground passing beneath her, dismal. "I was sent by Wirt to give the Lady Wendy a token of his affections."

Mabel blew air out her mouth as she rolled her eyes. "What? You gotta be kidding me."

"Nay, I speak the truth," Lorna said, earnest. "For many months now, Wirt has been in love with the Lady Wendy Cipher. She refuses to return his affections—much less, _see_ him—so he sends servants in his steed." Lorna reached into the bag hanging off her own shoulder, pulling out a thin box. "He made her this record to play on the gramophone, but she has refused to accept it every time. Today happened to be my turn to try my luck and, as it goes, today is the unfortunate day Wirt's persistence invoked the anger of her cousin."

"Bill Cipher," Mabel supplied.

"Aye, Bill Cipher. He wanted to 'return' me to my master himself and so forth. Now we are here, ready to give the bad news to his lord." Lorna down casted her gaze once again, releasing a hopeless breath that told Mabel all she needed to know about the girl.

The brunette spun in a circle, the ends to her coat twirling around her like an open flower. "So it's a case of unrequited love. How _romantic."_She struck a pose and winked. "In more ways than one."

A pink blush flared on Lorna's cheeks. "Nay, I protest! The relationship between my lord and I is strictly professional."

"What about before he was a duke? Auntie Whispers said something about meeting him beforehand."

Lorna grabbed her arm, chuckling nervously as she shrugged. "Tis but a passing affection," she explained. "Whatever Wirt and I had was nothing more. Besides, his heart found other loves."

"Besides this Wendy chick?"

"Aye, Beatrice Vogel. She rejected him and, for a time, they worked together in hunting the Beast. They disagreed over some matter or other and they parted ways. Now she works for the fair Lady Wendy."

Mabel whistled. "Wow-zeers. I gotta meet this Wirt punk now. He sounds like a heart breaker. How far is the manor from here again?"

"About a two hours. A quarter of that on horse."

She brushed it away. "Pssh. Like we need a horse. We have two good pairs of feet. We can walk. Plus, I wanna hear more about the Endicott household. How does Gregory play into all this?"

Lorna smiled. "Not many call him Gregory. Most refer to the youngest nephew as Greg…"

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><p><strong>MW: <strong>So we're at goal number two of this story, though technically I haven't really achieved it yet. I wanted Mabel to be the one to go against Bill since people tend to make Dipper his archenemy. I've always seen Mabel as a bigger opponent for Bill, so I really wanted to give her the opportunity to be the force that takes him down.

I should also note that I wrote Bill with a different speaking pattern from his normal one since I headcanon Bill automatically adopting the dialect of the time period he's been summoned into and, hey, most people of the unknown speak a weird mixture of old fashion and modern. Whatever.

Once again, thank you for reading and showing your continual support. See you again next week!

**Notes**

**-**I was originally going to have Bill call Lorna "Whispers" since she speaks in such a soft voice, but I was afraid that she might be confused for Auntie Whispers. Thus, "Squeakers" became his nickname for her.

-Beatrice's last name (Vogel) is the German word for bird. I couldn't find a popular fan surname for her, so I'm sorry if it's not one that you're used to.

**Thank you once again for checking this story out. We finally meet the Endicotts next week! **


	4. Endicott Manor

**Chapter 4: Endicott Manor**

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><p>The Endicott manor was not how Mabel imagined it to be. Weeks on the road gave her plenty of time to picture a grand castle surrounded by a moat filled with mostly nice alligators. She had the entire floor plan laid out, everything from the spiraling tower Wirt Endicott was supposed to lay in enchanted sleep to the grand entrance hall in which the duke himself would greet her from his high throne. Seeing a grand manor, one whose architecture and gated gardens reminded Mabel of an outdated mansion, was a tad disappointing.<p>

However, once the disappoint passed, Mabel Pines was filled with nothing but indescribable awe. Rich wall colors, pattern rugs, polished wood flooring, white molding—things that must have taken years for the greatest of artists to craft filled the hallways alone. Mabel turned in circles as she followed Lorna and another servant (they met this clean shaved man at the gate) down the length of the empty corridor. Even though Endicott Manor was not a castle, Mabel had no doubt that it was decorated for no one short of royalty.

"This place is _beautiful_," Mabel gushed, this time remembering to speak in her man voice. A portrait twice her size of two little blond boy playing in an oil-painted garden met her eyes. She trotted up to it, unable to restrain her excitement. "Is this the duke's nephews?"

Although Lorna had first laughed at how forced Mabel's deep voice sounded, she did well to keep a professional frown on her lips. "Nay, tis but a painting." She placed a gentle hand on Mabel's shoulder, edging her to continue her journey down the halls.

The walk was long and painful to the girls' aching feet, but they arrived at the duke's study soon enough (too soon, in Mabel's art-loving opinion). The extra servant opened the door, bowing his head as he announced, "My lord: Lorna the Servant has returned from the Cipher household, along with a weary traveler."

A jolly man laughed. "Come in, come in!" he called. Mabel followed Lorna inside, once again taken back by the florid decor. The study was ten times the size of Auntie Whispers's cottage and a million times richer. Each wall was lined with tall book cases, each one overflowing with worn volumes. Only the wall farthest from Mabel was not covered, as a large window consumed its space. A grand desk sat before it and, behind the desk, was a man who could only be the duke.

Although he was sitting, Mabel was sure that he was short. The top of his head was bald, though shoulder length gray hair fell down the aged sides. His eyes, mouth, and nose were large, but not to the same grotesque proportions as Auntie Whispers. Ignoring his upturned collar, the duke stood to greet the girls, extending a hand in their direction. "I'm happy to see you returned safe and sound," he said. He turned to the side, suddenly talking much quieter, more secretly to himself. "Though I don't ever recall ever sending you out. I must be going mad!" The last part made his eyes bulge with pleasure.

"I was the one to send her," a practical voice said. On a ladder against one of the towering book cases was a boy about Mabel's age. He was thin enough to put a stick to shame. His dull brown hair laid lifeless on top of his skull and stayed motionless against his forehead. Mabel saw the tip of his pointy nose stick out from his face as he climbed down the ladder, armed with two books. "You're not going mad."

The duke laughed it off. "Of course, of course. Right as always, dear nephew."

Mabel watched the boy, who was apparently Walter Endicott, place his books on a study table. He was not dressed in any rich garb or crown. His clothes were plain: a simple pair of trousers, thick suspenders, and a worn vest over a white shirt. Perhaps the one sign of his status was the cravat tied around his collar and tucked into his vest. It was a little detail, but it did much to make him look regal.

There was certain quality about him that made him handsome, but it was not the kind of handsome Mabel would imagine a heart breaker to have. He was not handsome due to an exquisite face or shadowy eyes. He was handsome because he was plain, unsuspecting, and so incredibly intriguing all at once.

Wirt's eyes glossed over Mabel as he approached Lorna. "What was Wendy's reply this time?" he asked. He sounded steady and confident, but there was an anxious edge to his voice.

Lorna directed her eyes downwards once again. "The same as always," she replied. She reached into her bag and pulled out the record's box. "Your lady refused you once again."

Wirt took the record in his hands. He stared at it longingly before releasing a long sigh. "It is, but the precedent," he said. He placed a soulful fist on his chest. "What man could be brave enough to question the rule of a woman's heart, for a woman is but the ocean. Her dance makes a sailor's journey fair. Her songs may rip his frail sails. Her hold, though long coveted, drowns him in her cold, lonely depths."

Mabel sighed, smiling as she applauded. Lorna had mentioned that Wirt was fond of poetry, but Mabel did not expect to hear any of his works, nonetheless something so artistic. It was simple in meaning, but the words had flowed from his tongue so passionately that it sounded on par with Shakespeare. She loved it.

Wirt flinched, suddenly noticing her presence. A blush warmed his neck and face, turning the tips of his ears red. "Um, thank you?" He stared at her for a moment longer before coughing into his fist. His composure regained, he addressed her formally. "And who might you be?"

If Mabel was good at one thing, it was improvisation. She took her hat off her head, holding it to her bound chest as she bent into a low bow. "No one, but a weary traveler," she said. She smiled, silently congratulating herself for remembering to use her man voice.

Wirt was not impressed. "I want a name, not an occupation," he said.

She grimaced. Keeping her body bent, she ran through every name in her head. Besides her brother's name, the only ones popping into her head were for girls: Mary, Susan, Grenda, Lucy, Tambry. She didn't want to steal Dipper's name either, but she could feel the weight of time on her shoulders.

But as the clock on the duke's desk ticked away, she saw in her mind's eye Dipper talking to a woman. The memory came to her hesitantly, but it was strong enough for her to see in her head—Dipper, holding himself like an adult even though he was only a teenager. He held a confidant hand to the woman he was questioning, saying, "_I'm Tyrone Pines, and this is my sister…"_

Mabel burst with joy as she remembered. Dipper had an alias whenever they were investigating the paranormal. If he knew her situation, he wouldn't mind if she used it for a while.

She returned to her upright position, giving Wirt a gracious smile. "Sorry. I was trying to be 'fancy-shamcy.'" She did air quotes, though the action seemed to do nothing to sway Wirt. Showing no sign of shame or awkwardness, she held out her hand. "I'm Tyrone, by the way."

He looked at her with incredulous eyes, though he said nothing to disagree with her. He took her hand, shaking it slowly as he replied, "Walter Endicott. What brings you here?"

"I'm looking for a boy named Dipper. He's about your age and, since you're the Beast expert, I figured—"

"Sorry, but I haven't seen him," Wirt said curtly. Mabel locked her mouth shut, surprised that he answered so quickly. Wirt turned back to his books, collecting them back into his arms as he brought them to a different desk on the other side of the room. "Whenever I pursue the Beast, the only person I ever find is the Woodsman. If this boy ran into him, then I wouldn't know."

The duke laughed boisterously. Mabel had forgotten he was even there, but she refused to let it show. She gave the old man her full intention as he clapped his hands. "What a fine lad you are," he exclaimed. "Most travelers come to this house with intentions of stealing from us, or begging for work, and you're only here to find one person. How delightful! We should reward you!"

Wirt rolled his eyes, dropping the books next to a stack of scattered papers. "He doesn't need an award," he muttered.

Lorna stepped forward. "Nay, he does," she insisted. Mabel guessed that Lorna was not often bold, since it was her soft voice that gained Wirt's interest. He turned towards he, eyes asking her to continue. "When the Lady Wendy rejected me, her cousin decided to escort me home. He bound my hands together most atrociously and abused me greatly. Tyrone was the one who saved me. He stood up to his lord Bill Cipher and escorted me here himself."

"Most heroic!" The duke exclaimed again. "We simply must give you work here. A salary is the least I can do with this vast expanse of wealth."

Wirt sat at his desk, pretending to lose interest. "Fine. Give him a job at the stables. He looks like a horse kind of guy."

Quincy Endicott slapped a hand on his chest, offended. "Nephew! Such heroic talents would be wasted on a meagre job like that. He'll be your personal servant."

Wirt buried his face in his book. "I don't need one, _Uncle._I'm perfectly happy by myself, thank you very much."

"If I may?" Once again, Lorna's voice captured Wirt's interest. Gracing Mabel with a smile, she said, "Tyrone is very heroic, and very interested in the goings of the Beast. My lord, he would be most excellent in aiding you in your quest. What say you, Tyrone?"

Mabel did not want to spend extra time at this manor, but it seemed like she had no choice. She had no money to fund her travels any further. If Dipper found out she had been reckless while he was missing, he would be so mad at her. Besides, she didn't have to stay here long. All she needed to do was work until she had enough money to last her a few months. Then she would be free to find Dipper.

Even being stuck here wouldn't _really _delay her quest. If the Beast had its eyes on her brother, then Mabel only had to follow it to him. Being Wirt's personal servant seemed more and more like a smart decision with each passing breath.

Mabel gave Wirt a smile of her own, placing her hat over her chest as she bowed. "I would love it if I could help you," she said.

He glared at her for a long moment before finally groaning in defeat. "Fine. You're my servant now. You start tomorrow."

Mabel smiled, her cheeks ballooned under her eyes as her chest swelled with excitement. Dipper would be so proud of her, wherever he is. Not that it mattered. She was going to find him soon and soon he and her would be able to return home.

The smile dripped away, turning into a frown. A part of her couldn't believe that hope. A part of her was still reeling from the crooked smile of Bill Cipher, as his mocking voice called her "Shooting Star." She didn't want to think about him much, a she couldn't help but to note that shooting stars always burned brightly before they died.

* * *

><p><strong>MW: <strong>Sorry for the late chapter. When I went to update this on Friday night, the server was down for whatever reason. It's been down all day, except for now (2am Sunday morning). This has been up and readable on every site except this one since Friday, so I guess I didn't really break from my typical schedule in the end. Yay!

Now back to our regularly programmed AN.

I know that Wirt's "real" name isn't Walter, but work with me here. At least he's finally made his appearance. Next chapter we get to see him and Mabel actually advance the plot. I remembered someone somewhere asking when Dipper will make is appearance, and while I cannot say exactly when, I will tell you that it's not going to be for a while. Sorry about that.

**No Notes**

**Thank you for reading! I hope you have a wonderful week! **


	5. Fire Runes

**Chapter 5: Fire Runes**

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><p>"Yo, Sir Boring Pants!" Mabel pushed the door to the study open with her hip, carrying a stack of books in her hands. "I think I got something!"<p>

The bright morning sunlight streamed in through the glass planes of the room's one large window, illuminating the dust that flew from the forgotten volumes. Wirt sat hunched at his uncle's desk, frowning at everything from the ancient text to the little brother playing with a frog at his feet to the nickname. "You know, when I said that you could drop the 'Sir Walter' thing, I didn't mean 'give me a new nickname every time you see me,'" he said dully.

Mabel dropped her book on his desk, smiling in victory. "But that's no fun! All you ever do is sit here and read," she said. "You gotta be, like, the boring-est person I've ever met."

"I-I-I'm not boring," he stuttered out. Much like his uncle, he looked off to the side, adding in a hushed breath, "I like doing stuff."

"You're hunting the Beast and all you've done for the past week is go through books about 'em!" Mabel exclaimed. "If I were you, I would kick my butt into defeating the sucker." She slapped her two hands together to form a finger gun. "Just take a rifle and _bang_!" She jerked the gun back, an action that sent a shock of pain through her chest. She winced as she grabbed the edge of the table for support. She knew that using old bandages was not a safe binding practice, but in this early twentieth century-esque universe, she had no other choice.

Wirt did not notice her massage her side as he looked back down at his book. "The Beast is a very dangerous creature," he reaffirmed, "and I'm not going to be the idiot who runs after him unprepared."

The round face of his brother appeared at his side, sporting a curious look. "But didn't you do that once, Wirt?" he asked as he held his frog by the stomach. After a week of working with the Endicotts, Mabel had realized three things about Wirt's younger brother.

One, Greg was smarter than he seemed. His green eyes seemed aware of the torn pieces of old sheets (graciously donated by Lorna) bound around her chest. He always asked her questions about who she was. It was seemingly out of childish curiosity, but the questions were too pointed to be sheer coincidence—"Have you ever worn a dress?" "Where are you from?" "Is Tyrone your only name?"

Two, Greg could not decide on a name for the frog. Mabel had suggested a few good names, but Greg didn't like any of them. The plump boy clad in worn overalls always said that since this was his and Wirt's frog, they should come up with a name for it together. However, Wirt never showed much interest in the pet.

The last and third point was where Wirt's role in Greg's life was apparent. Even though they had an uncle who was in a happy relationship with a more sane gentlewoman, it was obvious was Wirt was the main authority figure in Greg's life. It was by Wirt's command that Greg went to school every day and it was to Wirt that any reports of Greg's misbehavior were sent to. Mabel thought the arrangement was interesting, especially when Wirt tried so hard to be more mature than he was. She was curious as to how this mess of a relationship even came about. Auntie Whispers had mentioned that the boys were not always a part of this noble life. What happened to them before Quincy Endicott took them in? Lorna didn't know and Mabel didn't think that she would ever learn either.

Wirt slammed his book shut as his little brother looked up from the toy train he pushed his frog on. "Greg…" he started in a warning tone. He was normally more patient with the boy, but it was still early in the morning, too early even for breakfast.

Greg ignored him, instead giving his attention to Mabel. His smile was missing a few teeth, but it still shined with the brilliance of childhood. "Yeah, like back when we had Beatrice with us, they just went into the woods one night and—"

"Shouldn't you be going to school right now?" Wirt demanded, suddenly sounding exhausted. He placed his hand on his forehead, fighting to keep his eyes open. Mabel had to wonder how late he was up last night. He had dismissed her from her duties a little before nine, though she had heard a servant in the kitchen mention that the light seeping from under his door had not gone out until the early hours of the morning.

Greg sighed. Giving Wirt a good natured shake of the head, he lifted his frog into his arms. "Let's go, Captain Steinbeck," he said, walking out of the room. "I bet Beatrice would want to play with us."

"I said go to class, not Beatrice!" Wirt called out as the door shut behind him. Its click sent him into a long groan, one ending with him banging his forehead on his book.

Mabel's shoulders fell as she looked at the overtly stressed adolescent. Dipper also used to let his anxieties bottle up inside him, though he always let let Mabel in long enough to help. But she was his sister and that was her duty. Greg was the one who should be standing in her place, giving Wirt back his smile. She had seen the child do it many times before with silly comments and goofy songs. Mabel wasn't sure if _her_attempts would be taken as positively, but she had to give it a try.

Her eyes skimmed over the messy desk before landing on the unlit candle at the corner. "Hey Wirt." Mabel grabbed it and, before she could think better of her actions, put the candle to her mouth like a microphone and sang:

"Y_ou are the Dancing Queen, young and sweet, only seventeen."_

He raised his head from his book, amazed at the lyrics.

_"Dancing Queen, feel the beat from the tambourine, oh yeah._

_You can dance, you can jive."_

Mabel paused, realizing that Wirt's modest voice was joining hers. He sang hesitantly, as though he was tasting the odd words for the first time. She grinned at him and, continuing with her false baritone, slowed down the beat so that he could follow along.

"_Having the time of your life."_

Ignoring the growing pain in her chest, she pointed out the open window and belted the last few lines.

"_See that girl, watch that scene, diggin' the Dancing Queen."_

Wirt, now smiling, tried to hold the note as long as her, but his voice cracked half way. He squeaked and turned a fierce shade of red. Mabel laughed. "Feelin' better now, Grumpy Face?" she asked, smirking as she placed the candle on the desk.

Wirt twisted his mouth into a frown, but after a moment of sullenness, he returned the grin. It was small and unimpressive, but it was sincere and dripped of sweetness. "Yeah. Thanks." He looked down at his book again, chewing his lip. "I haven't heard that song in years," he said. "Where did you learn it?"

Mabel rolled her eyes, brushing off his concern as she grabbed a chair from a table on the other side of the study. "Who doesn't know 'Dancing Queen?'" she replied, dragging it back to Wirt's desk. She sat down across from him, making sure to spread her legs like a guy. "It's like my brother's favorite song. I hear him sing it in the shower all the time."

"Where are you from again?"

"Piedmont…" She stopped herself, eyes widening in realization. What was she doing? She was supposed to be posing as a native to the unknown, not some unlucky foreigner. If she wanted this disguise to work, she needed to hide her identity better.

Wirt looked at her with an unreadable expression. He leaned back in his chair, face angled towards the specks of dust the sunbeams lit up floating in the air. "I knew you weren't from around here," he said, though Mabel wasn't sure if he was talking to her or himself. Silence filled the spaced between them as he mulled over her fidgeting legs and sweating forehead. She hid her single gloved hand under her naked one. "I can't help you find your way home, Tyrone. That path is something you have to find yourself."

Relief wedge itself in her chest. He didn't seem mad at her, but there was definitely a part of him that hated the idea of her lying. It was not much, but it was better than being kicked out and left to find Dipper on her own. "I'm not looking for home," Mabel replied. She prayed that he could hear the sincerity in her voice. "I'm looking for something else."

"Your brother?"

She nodded. So he remembered that much.

Wirt was quiet for a long moment, one long enough to make her skin itch with worry. Was that one lie going to be enough to send her out of the manor? He sighed, sitting up in his chair. "Alright. You said you found something in those books?" He ignored her relieved expression as he pointed to the pile she had laid on his desk. "Aren't those the ones we found nothing in?"

Mabel couldn't help but to grin. "Yeah, but my brother always said to check things over a second time," she rambled, as she opened the top book to the dog-eared page. "So look what I found this morning." She pushed the book towards Wirt, pointing to a rune drawn next to an artist's image of the Beast. "It's a fire rune."

Wirt pulled it closer, pursing his lips as he studied it. "A rune?"

"Yeah. Those without magical abilities can use them to do magic-y stuff. The book doesn't offer any explanation on how it and the Beast are connected, but someone wrote it in there for a reason."

"Perhaps fire is the Beast's weakness," Wirt offered. "The again, if it was then why hasn't anyone defeated it yet?" He frowned. "Beatrice would know what this means."

Mabel raised a brow. "Beatrice?" she asked. She had heard the name brought up every now and then, but never long enough for Mabel to know who she was.

"My partner—or at least, she was until she flipped out at me and won't apologize. She was always better than me at this mystery stuff, but alas! Winter does bid the birds to take flight and, when the birds kiss us goodbye, the summer does not ask for their return."

She resisted a smile, knowing by now that Wirt was uncomfortable with people appreciating his poetry. Instead, she looked out the window, watching a few clouds past over the autumn's blue sky. She leaned a chin on her hand. "But Beatrice isn't gone forever," she said. "Didn't Greg say he was going to play with her?"

"She works at the Cipher house now—probably just to spite me—and she's stubborn and kinda swore that she would never talk to me ever again."

Now this was getting interesting. "What did you even do?"

"Nothing worth getting angry about," he grumbled.

Mabel didn't know whether to smile or frown. On one hand, it was obvious that this grudge was mutual between both parties. On the other, Wirt looked adorable with his cheeks puffed out in frustration. She stared at him for a long moment, content with the cuteness of his furrowed brows until a voice that sounded very much like Dipper rang in her head.

_Stop fawning over your guy-of-the-week, Mabel, and start helping me solve this puzzle._

She looked at the spiraling lines of the rune again. If Beatrice was really as good as Wirt made her out to be… "Why don't I go ask her for you?" Mabel suggested.

He gave her a skeptical look. "You actually want to go to the Cipher house?"

She shrugged. "Not really, but we need to figure out this rune thing asap."

He shook his head. "N-n-no way. That Bill Cipher guy is a lunatic and he'll probably kill you on sight."

"But—"

"No, Tyrone. We can probably figure this out ourselves anyways."

Mabel scowled as he flew his attention back to the book, talking out loud about a strategies for the most effective way to figure this out. She wished she knew how to do the research and puzzle solving part of paranormal investigating, but that had always been Dipper's job. She was the hands-on girl who learned the magic and talked to fairies. At this point, she couldn't do anything helpful.

At least, not directly.

She still knew how to guilt trip.

For the next four hours, Mabel played the silent game. When Wirt offered his thoughts on the puzzle, she gave laconic replies and disinterested sighs. She fetched him his breakfast, watched him sneeze over volumes with ties lips, and doodled on the spare paper in complete silence. The sun was nearing the apex of the sky when Wirt finally broke. He smacked a book shut and, giving Mabel an irritated stare, said, "Just promise me you won't embarrass me in front of Lady Wendy."

That was how Mabel found herself swinging her leg onto a horse, a personal bag knocking against her back. Her chin was raised with the knowledge that Wirt was watching her leave from the study window. She gripped the reins, one hand feeling the worn leather while the other felt the fabric of its glove. She rode a horse once when she was younger, but she hardly called that experience. It couldn't have been that hard, though.

She swallowed. Hopefully, she wouldn't die before she reached the Cipher house. Hopefully, Bill Cipher wouldn't kill her once she got there.

* * *

><p><strong>MW: <strong>I had the choice of either having Mabel sing "Dancing Queen" or "Disco Girl," but I went with the ABBA song since the latter only exists so that Disney could avoid a copyright issue. Anyways, welcome to the next part of the plot. The next few chapters are going to be about Mabel's trip to see Beatrice and her continual quest to take down the Beast.

Thank you to everyone who has gotten this far in the story. I know that the pacing is a tad slow, but it's building up to something I think is pretty great. Thank you to anyone who has read, reviewed, followed, etc. Your support makes this project infinitely more enjoyable for me to do. Thank you.

**No Notes**

**Thank you for reading! Have a happy Valentine's Day, whether you have a date or not! **


	6. Flickering Gold Irises

**Chapter 6: Flickering Gold Irises**

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><p>Bill Cipher strolled into his cousin's chambers with an air of self-assured pride. A bouquet of yellow roses was held in his hands, their intense hue perfectly matching his casual yellow shirt. Yellow was, after all, his prefer color and no lecture from the serving staff could convince him otherwise. Bill scanned the room which, despite its printed wallpaper and canopy bed, had a fine rustic feel to it and spied his cousin's head of red hair on her couch. "Sweet cousin," he said as he sat on the nearby arm chair. He crossed his legs and grinned. "What can I do for you?"<p>

His cousin, Wendy, was not beautiful in the traditional way. She did not have a perfect complexion (what was not burnt red from the sun was dotted with freckles), her hair was not piled on her head (it fell loose and lifeless down her back and frizzed at the roots), and her breasts did not brim over the edge of her bodice (she lacked the buxom figured and the natural curves of a woman). But Wendy's eyes were a vivid shade of green and her thin lips were capable of forming the sweetest of smiles.

That is, when she was not bored or annoyed.

Today, she was annoyed.

"I received a letter from the Endicotts, Bill," she said, giving him a sharp glare. "What did you do to that poor servant girl from the other day?"

Bill leaned back in his chair, resisting the urge to look smug. It seemed like Shooting Star and Squeakers made it to the manor. If he knew the Pines child well, and he would be damned if he didn't, then she found a means to stay there for a time. Now all he needed was for the other one—Pine Tree—to rear his ugly face. Then, he would have all the pieces he needed in one place.

"I treated the child with the utmost respect," he explained, speaking with a refined air. "I feared that the poor girl would be attacked by the Beast on her way back, so I personally escorted her. She rode with me on my horse—"

"That's a load of bull, and we both know it." Bill tried not to look annoyed as Wendy groaned again. She sank deeper into the couch's cushions. Bill wondered how much effort it would take to replace this amnesic girl with another less irritating one. She kicked her legs out, disrupting the skirt of her worn dress. For a gentlewoman, Bill mused, she certainly did not act like one. "C'mon man. What did you _really _do?"

"I may have lost my temper—"

A frustrated noise left her as she threw her hands up in the air. "This is your problem, Bill! You always get way too upset over the smallest of things, you act like you're better than everyone, and you're a jerk to everyone!"

He did not allow his smug smirk to fade from his face. "I'm only cruel to those who deserve it," he said. "Most of your serving staff is deserving of my rage."

She glared at him. "Name one person you're never cruel to."

"You."

"I don't count."

He was all too grateful for this moment, but he did not show it. Instead, he turned his head to the side, hiding a faked blush beneath his hand. "Well, there is a particular servant girl I'm rather fond of," he muttered quickly. "Sadly, she seems to be as fond of me as you are."

Wendy's look softened. She sat up, scratching her arm. "You shouldn't…" She stopped herself, realizing that this was a moment to take being truthful above being encouraging. "Well, it'll help if you're nicer to people in general." She pointed to the bouquet. "Are those for her?"

He shifted in his seat. "Are roses a good thing to give a girl when you're confessing your affections?" he asked.

"Of course, man. Us girls love that kind of junk!" Wendy sent him a confident smile. "When are you going to tell her?"

"I was going to speak to her when you summoned me…"

Wendy jumped off the couch. "Then go to her already!" She grabbed Bill's hand and pulled him onto his feet. "Don't let me slow you down!" She exclaimed as she dragged him to the door. She stopped him before he exited, quickly fixing the collar of his shirt. She reorganized the whisk of his hair. "Remember what I said about being nicer to people," she reminded him. Once she was sure he looked fine, she smiled and kissed his cheek. "You'll do fine."

Bill strained to return the smile before Wendy finally shoved him out of her room. He waited until she closed the door behind him to release a long breath. He knew that mentioning his "romantic" affairs to Wendy could cause that response. It was annoying, but at least he was able to avoid the lecture while strengthening his plans. He looked down at the roses. The petals were still fresh looking and—he sniffed them here—they still had their sweet perfume. He straightened his back. No point in wasting time any longer. He had to get this over with.

Bill walked down the hallways in silence, passing glares to any of the servants who stared at him. The one servant who mattered to him was in the kitchens. She always was at this time of day. When he spotted her next to one of the scullery maids, laughing over a joke, he smiled and ducked out of sight. He rounded the corner and found one of the many doors to the outside grounds. A servant passing through the door rushed to hold it open for him, being sure to avert his gaze from Bill's eyes and certainly from his flowers.

Bill rounded around the side of the kitchen until he found the outside entrance. It old wood door stood open, emitting a lovely scent of freshly baked bread. Bill checked his appearance one more time. This better go well. Hiding his concerns behind sanguine smirk, he leaned against the door frame. The clanks and noise of the kitchen quieted down at the chefs and their assistants noticed his arrival. The only ones unaware were the servant girl and the scullery maid, who were still laughing at a joke. Their laughs echoed untethered through the anxious kitchen.

Bill coughed into his fist, stealing both of the girls' attention. Frowns appeared on their faces as they looked up at him. Bill looked down at the servant girl. "I'm sorry to interrupt, but is it possible for you and I to have a word?" he asked. He turned to the rest of the kitchen. "No need to stop for me. You may continue with your work," he added graciously. The noise slowly started up again, though the worried and curious glances were still sent to him and the two girls.

The servant girl and the scullery maid exchange a confuse glance. "Me?" the servant girl asked.

He pretended to think about it. "Are you perhaps Beatrice Vogel?"

The servant girl scowled. "Why am I not surprised?" she asked dryly. "You've been stalking me for the past few weeks."

Bill shrugged. "You are a very intriguing girl, Blue Bird." Her mouth twitched at the nickname, but he ignored it. "Will you walk with me for a bit?" he asked.

Beatrice gave the scullery maid one last look before rising to her feet. She brushed the dirt and ash off her dress before walking past Bill. "Let's get this over with," she muttered as she started down their usual path.

Bill grinned and followed after her. "And that's what I like about you," he said, catching up with her stride. While she was not the tallest girl Bill knew (that honor went to Wendy), Beatrice still had a fair amount of height. Each step kicked up her skirt and revealed the scuffed tips of her works boots. "You're never one to fear me like the rest do." He grinned as he held out the bouquet of roses, though she didn't notice them.

Beatrice huffed. "Well, someone has to put you in your place," she said. "Besides, you're not scary."

"Oh? And what am I then?"

She shot him a hot glare. "I think you're a self-centered, hot head, piece of—what are those for?" She pointed at the roses.

Bill laughed, pushing them closer to her. "They are for you. You like roses, don't you?" She took them with reluctance, confusion digging between her thin brows. "You can put one in your hair," he said, pointing to the twist of ginger hair pinned to her head. "That's what girls typically do with the flowers they like, right?"

Beatrice grimaced. "They're yellow," she stated.

"An excellent color, if you ask me."

The smallest trace of a sincere smile appeared on her face, but she forced it away with a tight frown. "Blue is my color."

"And it is a very fine color indeed." He reached out a hand and plucked one of the roses from the bunch. He snapped off most of the stem, leaving behind a two inch stick and a yellow bud that was only just starting to unfurl. "Hold still." Beatrice began to move away, but Bill placed a hand on her shoulder and held her in place. They stayed motionless on the cobble pathway as he stuck the flower into her hair. "There," he said, releasing her. His eyes looked at her heart-shaped face with approval. "Despite our disagreement in color, it still looks quite lovely on you."

He hoped to see the faint traces of red brush on her freckle dappled cheeks, but instead received an equally satisfying look of amazement. Beatrice stared at him as though she was trying to fit his actions into her definition of him, the one defied by the ring of gold surrounding her deep black pupils. She looked down, shaking her head. "I don't understand you half of the time," she said, as they reached the center of the garden.

All around them were bushes of flowers and lines of trees. Every plant seemed to point to an ancient willow with long dropping leaves that touched the surface of a small pond. Those same leaves created a green curtain, one that Bill held open for Beatrice. Wary, Beatrice checked behind her back before stepping through. A wood bench stood at the edge of the pond, just so that whoever sat at it could dip their toes into the cool water.

Bill appeared at Beatrice's side as she took in the sight. "It's pleasant here, isn't it?" he said.

His arm brushed against her and she edged away. "It's… _nice_."

He placed a hand on the small of her back and nudged her towards the bench. "Sit, Blue Bird."

She tried to smile as she sat on the bench. She focused her eyes at the water on the other side of the leaf curtain, hoping to see someone nearby. "I kind of regret ever telling you that story," she stated, trying to take control of the conversation. "Because of you, _everyone _is starting to call me that."

"That's a shame. I was hoping it could be our special little thing." She tensed when she saw him lower onto one knee. She bit her lip when he placed his hands on the armrest of the bench as he looked up at her. "Blue Bird—Beatrice Vogel, you've probably guessed why I'm here today."

She edged away from him. "I was hoping you'd prove me wrong."

Bill laughed. "Unfortunately, that is not how my heart swings." He looked towards the ground, suddenly a little shy. "I'm not sure what the most eloquent way to put this is, so I will just say it plainly: I'm in love with you, Blue Bird. Please marry me."

Bill hoped that he would see some traces of a blush on those freckled cheeks, it would have made his job so much easier, but instead she only continued to stare at him. Behind her eyes he saw her mind trying to fit him into a single image, or at least the one she made for him. Although he anticipated the disappointment of her answer, he felt the victory of her definition of him changing from something cruel to something more human. "I'm really flattered," Beatrice replied bluntly, "but I don't love you back."

"Then marry me for my status," he insisted. "Give me time and I will earn your love."

She shook her head, rising from the bench. Bill raised his brows in surprise as she began to stalk away. "I don't know the kind of girl you think I am, but I won't marry someone for something like status." She left the roses on the bench.

Bill scrambled to grab them. "You say that like I'll never earn your love."

"I don't plan on ever falling in love with you," she called back, pushing aside the curtain of leaves.

"Then let me change your plans!"

Beatrice glowered. "Give me one good reason why I should—"

"Beatrice!"

By the time Bill had ran back to her side, armed with the abandoned flowers, Beatrice was squatting to hug a small boy. He stopped a few feet away, watching her calloused hands rub his brown locks affectionately. "Greg!" She exclaimed, pulling away. A sweet smile replaced her irritated visage. "How are you doing? How's Wirt?"

"He's fine, but he still thinks you're mad at him, so he's pretending to be mad at you in return," Greg told her proudly as he slipped his thumps under the straps of his overalls. He flicked them. "That brother o' mine doesn't want to admit he misses you."

She laughed in good nature, though a glint in her blue eyes told Bill that she was worried. "And how to you know that, O' Wise Man?"

"Tyrone told me when I caught him secretly reading Wirt's poems without his permission." Bill quirked a brow, stepping closer to the longtime friends. Tyrone? Now that was a familiar name. He found a whole memory bank labeled it when he was in Pine Tree's body all those years ago. From what he had gathered, Tyrone never existed beyond a temporary clone.

Beatrice voiced his thoughts. "Who's Tyrone?"

"Wirt's new friend, though I'm supposed to refer to him as a servant. I think he's secretly a girl, but Lorna told me that Tyrone's definitely a guy."

Bill had to suppress a laugh. So Shooting Star did manage to find her way into the Endicott household. Not only that, but she was in deep with the duke's nephew. _Not only that, but _she was disguising herself as a man. This was far too comical to be true. Out of all of the ways to hide herself, Shooting Star had to do it in the most hilarious manner. Bill couldn't help but to chuckle. He had been afraid that the years would have robbed her of her eccentric mind, but it seems like Mabel Pines was still as strange as he remembered.

"Why are you laughing?" Beatrice demanded.

Greg finally looked away from her, spotting the yellow man for the first time. He smiled and leaped to his arms. "Bill!"

The man laughed, catching him easily. "Teapot!" He swung Greg in a circle, causing more squeals of happiness from the boy. Even if he was stuck in this human form with little to no power, Bill still had a fondness for those with wonderful dreams. Small children in particular always had the most bizarre and entertaining dreams. As long as they didn't interfere with his plans, the demon-turned-man had a liking for them. Greg was one of them. Smiling, Bill lifted Greg on his back, saying, "have you been practicing your rock skipping?"

Greg grumbled, "No. Wirt's been forcing me to go to school."

"Wait, you two know each other?" Beatrice asked, looking at them with obvious confusion.

Bill grinned cheekily as Greg replied. "Yeah we do! I lost Mr. President once and Bill found him for me. And he draws with me, and plays old cat, and showed me how to skip stones." Greg gasped. "We should skip stones now!"

"Your wish is my command." He looked at Beatrice. "Will you join us, Blue Bird?"

Again, Bill saw her mull over her depiction of him in her mind. He could see her fighting to maintain his status as a terrible person—the gold rings in her eyes flickered—but it was hard to do so with one Greg hanging off his shoulders. A reluctant smile appeared on her lips. "Sure" was all she said.

They exited the willow's privacy, trailing along the edge of the light blue pond. They listened to Greg sing a small song about rocks and how they flew like birds until Bill found them a suitable spot. Bill searched the ground for a flat stone, gently correcting Greg when he found one too round or pointed. "Do you know how to skip stones?" Bill asked Beatrice as she stood a few feet away from them.

She shrugged, eyeing him like a wary animal. "I haven't done it since I was a child."

"Then take a moment to be a child again."

At first she only rolled her eyes, but as he and Greg began throwing their stones at the water, she shook her head and joined them. They laughed among themselves as their stones kissed the glass surface of the pond, jumping over fallen red leaves a few times before sinking into the watery depths. Bill occasionally stopped to instruct Greg and, when he was sure Beatrice was not going to push him away, he placed a hand on her should and fixed her stance. She yanked her shoulder away, but it lacked any of her previous contempt. Something about the expanding ripples the stones made seemed to calm her hot temper.

And, for a moment, Bill thought he was in the gold. She was starting to pass him smiles, giving him a humored chuckles when he made jokes only she was old enough to understand. He did everything a normal human would do in a courting situation and, to his luck, it was starting to work. Although his villainous persona had yet to leave her irises completely, it was starting to be replaced with one of a man who was good with children and pretty nice to be around when he was not stressed. Before his very eyes, he could see the gold grow brighter in her irises.

The blue dominated it again when a servant came running down the path towards them. "Sir Cipher!"

He sighed, handing Beatrice the rick he was about to throw. "Excuse me for a moment," he said before turning to the servant with a professional frown. "What is it?"

"There is another suitor from Walter Endicott for the Lady Wendy at the gate."

"Do you have a name?"

"He introduced himself as Tyrone, sir."

Bill heard Greg start an animated speech about why Beatrice needed to meet "Tyrone," but he tuned it out. So Shooting Star was coming to him now. If he played this right, he may be able to speed up his plans. "Let him in. I will attend to this Tyrone in the lounge," he ordered. "I will be there presently." The servant bowed and scurried away, leaving him alone with Greg and Beatrice once again.

He turned around, giving them a regretful smile. "Sadly, you both heard him. I must attend to my duties," he said, watching Greg's face fall with disappointment. He reached a hand down and scruffed his head. "Don't be sad. I'll see you again, Teapot. Besides, you still have Beatrice with you." At that, he looked at the girl with a wistful smile. "I'm sorry for loading my feelings onto you so suddenly," he said like a true gentleman. "I had an enjoyable time today. Perhaps I may seek your company again tomorrow?"

She looked at the bouquet of roses lying on the back where Bill had placed them. She sighed. "You're too stubborn for me to say no."

He smiled and bowed. "You make my heart soar like a blue bird." He laughed as Beatrice gave him an unamused stare. Her hands tightened into fists, but Bill sauntered off before she could use them. He gave them a final wave of the hand. He heard Greg call out a few more goodbyes, though once he was away from the pond and traveling back through the garden, he could care less what the boy and the girl did. All he needed was for Beatrice to trust him and, with the return of the Pines twins, he only had a limited time to do so.

A thick frown formed on his face. He had known that the two children of mystery would eventually find their way here. They had a knack to seek out these sort of things. He had not expected them to come so soon. Now his plans were pushed along. Within the next few weeks he would have to have both of the twins at his disposal and the trust of dear Blue Bird. Then, he would be out of here and returned to his previous demonic glory. It will be quite the feat to pull off and, as the distant baritone song of the woods reminded him, the game was in his favor.

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><p><strong>MW: <strong>I was going to start this A/N with a hearty "you guys know me and should have seen this coming" but then I remembered that this is the first time I've ever written anything for either of these two fandoms, so I have to explain myself. I am a shipper. I ship a lot of popular pairings and a lot of uncommon ones as well. As much as I worship the ground of my OTPs, I never let my romantic preferences get in the way of telling my stories. So a lot of times in my fanfictions, there are a lot of crack pairings and it's just because I need them for plot purposes.

That being said—_I don't actually ship Bill and Beatrice_. I think I made it pretty clear that Bill needs her for his plans and is manipulating her emotionally. As I write their interactions further ahead in the story, they do actually turn out to have a pretty fun friendship, but Bill's still a sociopath with no real human emotions. I'm never going to change that.

If you follow my writing blog **aphwriter **(will there ever be a day I don't promote it?), I said that the lateness of this chapter is blamed on my performing in a play last night. I didn't get home until past midnight, so any hopes I had of getting this done on Friday was swept to pieces. Also, because of my play, I haven't replied to any reviews yet so don't be surprised if you get a really late message from me sometime this weekend.

**No Notes**

**Thank you for reading! Have a great last week of February! **


	7. Shooting Stars

**Chapter 7: Shooting Stars**

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><p>The journey to the Cipher house was more pleasant than Mabel expected. The horse she rode was demure. It trotted its long brown legs down the dirt road with little need of guidance. Once Mabel had realized that there was little chance of running into anybody she knew, she pulled the horse aside, ducked behind a bush, and unraveled the bandages around her torso. The pain building in her chest lessened considerably and, after lying down for a half hour, she hopped back onto her horse with freed breasts. A part of her worried that the Beast would find her undisguised self, but when she saw how the red leaves of the forest created a dappled road for her to travel, she allowed herself this short glimpse of freedom.<p>

She took a deep breath and took in the beauty surrounding her. The autumn breeze tickled against the lovely leaves and left her face flushed red with cold. Despite the temperature, the hues of red and yellow and brown made this wonderful land look as warm and inviting as the summer woods of Gravity Falls.

When the forest began to clear away and the mansion owned by the Cipher family came into view, Mabel ducked behind another bush and reapplied her chest bind. She nearly cried from the pain, but she forced herself to bear through it. Hopefully, Wirt was being his over dramatic self when he said that Beatrice hated him. Hopefully the ever fated girl would be more than happy to give Mabel her thoughts on the puzzle.

But, as Mabel discovered, hope was that thing with feathers that flies away once the guard at the gate asks you if you are a suitor from the Endicott household. "Well, I'm not a suitor, per say, but I do need to see _a_ lady of this house," Mabel joked with a wink. She had the feeling that the guard didn't catch her mischievous grin since he scowled and left to inform one of his higher ups. When he returned, he looked sorry to let her through the gates and onto the property.

The Cipher manor was as decorative as Endicott's, though it appeared to be smaller. But what it lacked in size it made up with gardens. Rows upon rows of planted flowers—roses, lilies, violets, daises—decked each side of the path leading to the main house. A stable boy took Mabel's horse before she finally went inside. The interior was not much different from Endicott's, though once again, it was slightly less grand. Mabel did notice that while Quincy had painted each of his rooms a different color, each Cipher room Mabel passed through seemed to be either a shade of yellow or blue.

For whatever reason, the color combination sent goose bumps riddling her skin.

Yellow were the walls of the lounge Mabel was left in. She would have expected some butler to stand calmly in the corner in case she needed anything, but the servant who guided her had left her alone. The room was dim. The sunlight that should have been gracing the three tall windows was instead beating down on the other side of the mansion. Mabel passed her eyes over the furniture and hanging paintings. They were as fancy as Endicott's, but something about the color of the room or the lack of sun made everything feel suffocated.

She massaged her chest. Maybe it was just the bind.

With nothing else to do, Mabel sat on the couch pushed against the wall. The baby blue cushions were stiff and uncomfortable. She looked at the grandfather clock standing on the other end of the room. She was not sure who she was going to talk to next, but she knew that there was no reason for them to keep her waiting. She closed her brown eyes, humming to herself. Dipper used to become anxious when he was in situations like this, she remembered, ones where his fate was up to outside forces. She had always hummed and sung to calm him down. She had to do it so often that now it was habit to hum whenever she was waiting for anything.

Why _was_Dipper always so anxious?

She stopped humming. The kid was a little ball of stress, but the amount of anxiety she remembered was not normal. A sick feeling welled in her gut. A memory fluttered to her—Dipper muttering beneath his breath, scratching his arms, looking around with wide eyes as they hunted for monsters. What made him so... _frightened_?

Four words floated to Mabel's brain, though she could not remember what they meant: _The End of Summer._

"I apologize for making you wait so long." Mabel's eyes shot open as the door opened. Bill Cipher swaggered in. She gulped, straightening her back. Considering their last encounter, she would have figured that Bill would have been furious to see her again, but furious was the last word she would have used to describe his smiling demeanor. He dripped with a strange mixture of sweetness and lechery. She watched him send her a passing smirk before standing by the window. "I missed you. Did you miss me, Shooting Star?" he asked.

"I'm not here to flirt with Lady Wendy, if that's what you're worried about," Mabel started, but before she could direct the conversation away from herself, he started talking again.

"Right, you don't go by Shooting Star anymore. Tyrone is your name now." He turned to her and gave a low bow. "Pleasure to meet you then, Tyrone."

Mabel's eyes followed him as he rose from his bow. "I just want to have a few minutes with one of the servants working here," she said as he sauntered towards her. "Her name is Beatrice." He stopped mere inches in front of her, using his daunting height to loom over her head. Mabel resisted the urge to swallow, instead forcing herself to persist. "She works here, right?"

Suddenly, he was leaning over her. A knee wedge itself between her legs, forcing them apart. Mabel raised her hands in defense, but his cold hands grabbed her wrists and pinned them to the back of the couch. Fight instincts flared up in Mabel's head as she realized that she was caged between his long arms. She pressed her lips, forcing her arms to relax as Bill drew closer to her.

She knew what he was doing. He was trying to intimidate her. He wanted her to fight against his hold and call him a monster. There was only one way to win against intimidation: stop fighting. She wanted to spit the idea out of her head, but she forced herself to stay calm. She did not know what Bill would do when he got the upper hand and she did not want to find out. So she smoothed her face of all emotion and met his smoldered gaze with emotionless eyes. She was void of all resistance, passive to his tightening grip and smirking lips.

Bill's forehead touched hers and it took every ounce of her will power not to flinch. "But I like Shooting Star better," he continued. His warm breath flooded Mabel's face.

_Be passive_, she commanded herself. He had no leverage over her.

"It describes exactly who you are, Mabel Pines." He smiled when she took in a sharp breath.

Her heart banged against her rib cage. How did he know her name? She had been so careful to hide it, and yet…

"You are beautiful, but your brilliance is short lived. Every star must fall and, when you do, I get my wish granted."

Mabel wanted to shove him away and demand how he knew her name, but she knew that anger would not get her anywhere. She had to make her next move carefully. She eyed the yellow man. Bill had ignored everything she had told him at this point. What mattered was only what he was saying. If she talked his language, she just might get an answer. "Stars don't fall," she replied, doing her best to sound calm. "They hang in the sky and give the rest of the world light. I'm not going to fall anytime soon, _Bill_."

He looked pleased. "True, stars don't fall. Pines trees do."

What did the pine tree represent? Wirt? Mabel felt like she knew the answer, but she couldn't grasp it. "I don't care about pine trees," she replied. The ends of his smirk curled. "All I care about are other stars and constellations, like the big dipper."

"Shooting stars and pine trees are more closely related than you think." Bill's knee slid forward, forcing Mabel's legs further apart. She ordered her face to maintain its indifferent visage. "You want to know why pine trees are so tall? Because they want to be stars. They do everything they can to be a constellation. They even name themselves after them." She felt his warm skin move across hers as he brought his mouth to her ear. His lips lingered just next to her ear lobe as his shoulder brushed against her face. "I know one pine tree who named himself Dipper," he whispered. Mabel couldn't help but to gasp. Bill knew Dipper? How? Was he close by? Was Dipper somewhere in this very house, waiting for her to find him? "He grew too tall as he tried to touch the stars. You know what happens to pine trees that grow too tall?" He pressed his mouth to the side of her face. "Someone goes and chops them down."

Mabel shot a leg up, kicking her foot into his stomach. Bill flew back, knocking into a side table as she shouted, "What did you do to my brother?"

Bill grabbed the side of the table, careful not to knock over the vase of flowers on it. "You said that you wanted to speak to Beatrice Vogel, right?" he asked, changing the subject once again.

Rage flared in Mabel's chest. If the life of her brother was not in question, she would have restrained herself, but not when the one bastard who knew what happened to her Dipper- where she might even find him- refused to shake that mocking smile away. Yes, the grin stretched across his pale face was drenched in a humored gleam. His bright eyes dared her to wipe it from him. Sneering, Mabel marched up to Bill and grabbed the collar of his shirt. "What happened to Dipper?" she demanded again, shaking him.

That sickening visage refused to deflate. "Unfortunately, Beatrice is the personal maid to my cousin Wendy—"

"Where's Dipper?"

"—if you want an audience with her, you must ask permission from my cousin first—"

"Stop ignoring me!"

"—so if you would let go of me…" At this, Bill calmly peeled Mabel's hands away. She stared at her hands cupped by his, wondering how he had been able to do that so easily. Then she sniffled and she realized that all her anger had turned into tears. She looked down at her boots where a few drops fell off her cheek and dotted her toes. Like an affectionate parent, Bill patted her cheek before rising back to his feet. He pulled her up with him, holding her hand like a gentleman. "I'll have a servant take you to her now, Tyrone, so please don't cry. The Beast tends to prey on those who have lost hope."

Mabel looked at him. She knew that with her face red and blotchy from tears that she was no match for his calm disposition, but she still could not help but to say, "A Pines twin never loses hope."

"And that's why the Beast is after you both."

Her face lit up as relief flooded her. If the Beast was still interested in Dipper, then he had to be out in the Unknown somewhere, well enough to travel. Her stupid little brother had to be alive and surviving.

Bill pulled her to the door, swinging it open before barking to the nearest servant, "Take Master Tyrone to my cousin. I do not care if she is in the middle of some pastime or other. This is a matter of the utmost urgency!" He shoved her to the poor servant girl and, before Mabel could think to hit Bill for tricking her, the lean man strutted down the hall in the opposite direction.

Mabel glared at his confident gait, wiping her nose on her coat sleeve. She didn't know what she was supposed to call whatever just happened between them. He had intimidated her, tricked her into thinking that Dipper was dead before revealing his lies. Why? Who was Bill Cipher and why did he take such pleasure in seeing her in pain? How did he even know so much about her and Dipper anyways?

She knew that, as the Pines Twins, she and her brother were famous in the paranormal world for their adventures in mystery (mostly due to a blog that Mabel suddenly recalled Dipper writing). The citizens of the Unknown, or at least the servants at the Endicott manor, didn't seem familiar with them so Mabel figured that their infamy hadn't extended to here yet. There was no way Bill Cipher to know so much about her and Dipper. Yet, despite all reason, he did. Why?

Four words rang through her head like a bell again, echoing off the sides of her skull in a lonely chime. _The End of Summer._It was the second time she felt an innate part of herself reach for her forgotten summer at Gravity Falls, but she still could not say what it was or what happened there.

Mabel was starting to get the idea that this memory her amnesia had locked away was the bad one.

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><p><strong>MW: <strong>Looks like it's time to explain myself. Again. Remember how I mentioned before that I had a set of goals for this fanfiction. I wanted Mabel to go against Bill, but I wanted it done in a way that resembles the typical Dipper vs Bill scenarios you see elsewhere. So Mabel and Bill's conversation was intelligent, full of double meanings, and overflowing with sexual subtext. I'm actually really proud of Mabel and Bill's dialogue.

That's all I really got to say about this one. Thank you for reading and taking the time to follow or favorite or review. It's really encouraging and makes me excite to continue with this project. Thank you!

**No Notes**

_**Merci Beaucoup**_**! I see you all next week with the next part of the story! **


	8. Vague Memories

**Chapter 8: Vague Memories**

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><p>When Beatrice returned to her duties as a personal maid (a position she only accepted due to the money her family needed to repair their <em>very<em> _special_ mill), she was glad to see that her Lady Wendy was still busy at her desk. She chewed on the end of her fountain pen as her green eyes stared down at the stacks of paper before her. Beatrice remembered having dressed her mistress for her role as the lady of the house that morning, but it seemed as though her efforts had been in vain once again. The hair she had pinned to the scalp now hanged loose at the waist. Her dress sported a few new dirt stains. How Wendy managed to look wild when she had not left her room all day was a complete mystery. Beatrice released a good natured breath, shaking her head as she stood behind the redhead's chair. "I'm back from my break," she announced. Wendy ordered her long ago to drop the formal titles.

Wendy nodded, too absorbed in her work to give a proper reply. "Uh huh, that's great Blue Bird."

Beatrice frowned, remembering the afternoon she spent with Bill Cipher. She admitted that this was the first day she ever saw the man extend any real kindness to, well, _anyone_ (Greg liked him, which was a good sign), but that barely prevented her from having a sour taste in her mouth. "Not you too."

Wendy scribbled a few numbers on a spare page. "I take it that you spent the afternoon with my cousin?"

She spotted Wendy's riding boots tossed on the other side of the room and used them as an excuse to move away from her mistress. "How did you guess?"

"Oh, he was going on about some girl that he really liked earlier. Plus, you got a yellow rose in your hair." Beatrice turned a bright pink as she yanked the cursed flower out of her bun. Wendy laughed as she turned in her chair, propping her legs on her work. "Don't be embarrassed, man. Boys are stupid anyways." Beatrice crushed the flower in her hand and Wendy's looked softened. Her straight red hair shimmered in the golden light of the afternoon sun as she pressed her thin lips. "So what did you do with the rest of that bouquet?"

"I threw it in the trash where it belongs." Beatrice marched to the closet, yanking the door open and throwing the muddy boots inside.

Anyone could see the dispirited look on Wendy's face. "I know that Bill can be difficult to be around, but he always means well in the end," she said. "If he does anything that makes you feel uncomfortable and stuff, just tell me and I'll whoop his ass."

Beatrice couldn't help but to chuckle. "Thank you." She found the mending she had abandoned for her break and took it in hand. "You know, he actually proposed to me."

"Just like that?" Wendy made a barfing gesture. "Ah, ew!"

"Exactly." She took her place on a wooden chair sitting in the golden pool of sunlight. "That's why I turned him down."

"Reminds me of that Endicott guy," Wendy said. "I met him once at a party and now he won't leave me alone. Like half of the things he does his sweet and all, but it's all like 'dude, I don't even know you.' How did Bill take the rejection and all?"

Beatrice shrugged as she poked her needle into her mending: a gown Wendy had ruined on one of her surprised expeditions into the woods (the lady had the unfortunate habit of avoiding her responsibilities by taking "walks" in the woods without telling anyone). "Fairly good by his standards. I agreed to spend more time with him tomorrow, though."

"So it wasn't too traumatizing?"

"He's better with kids than I thought he would be."

"Sounds like Bill." Wendy cracked a small smile. "You know, it wouldn't be too bad to have you as a sister-in-law, but not if you had to marry Bill to do it. He's kind of a douche bag to anyone over the age of ten. Are you sure you don't want me to get him off your back?"

Beatrice smiled. "I think I can handle him."

A knock sounded at the door and a servant peeked his head into the room. "My lady, there is a messenger from the Endicott household here to see you."

Wendy groaned. "Oh great. Is it a suitor?"

The servant turned to the unseen messenger and asked. Wendy and Beatrice heard a hushed reply. When the servant echoed it to them, it was a much welcomed "no."

Wendy looked at her papers—records of the money accounts needed to run the mansion. She should do it now, but she had been working on them for the past hour. She did deserve a break, albeit one that would probably give her a massive headache. She folded her arms over her chest. "Bring him in."

The servant nodded and pushed the door fully open. A servant dressed in an old traveling coat stood behind him. His eyes still red and swollen from what Wendy presumed was crying, but he was well put together. His single gloved hand brushed his short bangs away from his face as he stepped inside. He smiled at the staring women, adjusting the cuffs of his white shirt. "Hey there," he greeted, giving them a exuberant wave. He started to walk further into the room but he remembered his manners and stopped.

Beatrice noticed Wendy breaking from her nonchalant demeanor. The distant response she gave nearly everyone was replaced by one of confusion. Most servants, especially ones from the Endicotts, knew to bow to her and address her by her proper title. This one seemed to have forgotten that Wendy was above him.

He rocked on his heels as he tried to cope with the sudden uncomfortable air. "So…" He cleared his throat. "Right, um. I'm Tyrone. I work for Wirt Endicott, but I'm _not_ a suitor."

"I hope you're not," Wendy replied, unable to mask her confusion. She peered at Tyrone's face. "Were you crying?"

Tyrone waved off her concerns. "Yeah, but I'm a tough guy." He puffed out his chest. He swung his arms as though he was displaying his muscles. His voice deepened to an unnaturally low level. "I don't normally cry, 'cause that's a girly thing, you know?"

"Do I want to know why?"

Tyrone's face contorted as he held a silent conversation with himself. At last, he gave her a careless shrug. "Bill Cipher," he stated as though he was telling her the time of day.

Wendy threw her head back and groaned. "Are you kidding me? I'm going to kill that asshole." She gestured to the servant. "Go tell my cousin that he's going to get his ass handed to him later, would ya?" The servant nodded and scurried away, closing the door behind him. "Take a seat—Tyrone, was it?"

"Sure is," Tyrone said as he took a seat in a plush brown arm chair. "It's the manliest name around."

Beatrice and Wendy stared at him. "Masculinity is so fragile," Beatrice whispered as she focused her eyes on her mending.

Wendy snorted. "Hilarious." Tyrone released a nervous chuckle. Ignoring him, Wendy drew a serious stare onto her face. "So what did Bill do to you?" she asked.

Tyrone rolled her shoulders, working his arm muscles once again. "Nothing a buff dude like me can't handle."

"So fragile," Beatrice repeated, stabbing her needle into the dress.

Wendy ignored her in favor of giving Tyrone an irritated glare. "Look, I can't make sure this doesn't happen again if I don't know what he did."

Tyrone grimaced. "Yeah, the thing about that is…" He struggled to find the words. "It's really not worth mentioning. He was just doing his protective cousin thing, and you know how that can go and all—so you are Bill's cousin?" Tyrone asked, quickly changing the subject. "That's so cool, even though you two look nothing alike."

Wendy tried to suppress her confused look, but her brows couldn't help but to quirk upwards. She was too used to having complete respect from people. On one hand, she should stomp her foot down and demand Tyrone to show her a little decorum. But there was something about his flustered visage and scruffy brown hair that was familiar. Wendy stared at him.

She had seen him before. Somewhere with trees and stars. A place where the stress was different, but still hidden under indifference. But unlike now, there was other means of relieving the stress. Walks were not an option, not when there were people to talk to. People respected her for what she did, not her title. People liked her.

And the person who liked her the most was a younger boy trying to find his place in the world.

Wendy twirled an absent strand of hair, feeling a hole carve itself into the lining of her stomach. Bill always told her that the life she lost to her amnesia was a terrible one. She was sure that Tyrone was a part of it, especially when the very sight of him eased her strung nerves. She chose her words carefully, hiding her revelation behind a coy smile. "Oh, we're not related by blood," she told him. "Has you master ever told you that?"

Tyrone shrugged. "Nah, not really. He kinda skims on the 'important' stuff." He emphasized his words with air quotes. "He writes a lot of poetry about you, though."

"I could have lived my entire life without knowing that," Beatrice muttered, low enough for only her mistress to hear.

Her mistress grimaced, trying not to think about Endicott's almost creepy persistence. "Right… well, Bill saved me. He found me unconscious in the forest and took me in, even when I couldn't remember who I was."

He tilted his head to the side like a confused dog. "Oh, so he's like a dad to you."

She hoped that something about her personal life would awake some more memories of him, or at least revel if he knew her as well. "I wouldn't go _that_ far. We kind of have this mutual standing thing going on. He controls the business and makes the money and I have power of the purse." She gestured to the stacks of books and papers behind her. "He makes the money and I get to decide what we do with it. We both have equal authority over what happens in this house that way. It's nice."

Tyrone smiled and, while Wendy prayed for more clues, Beatrice couldn't help but to wonder at it. He was being told that the man who obviously traumatized him was not a complete villain, and he could manage to give such a bright—sincere—smile? She stared at him as he complimented the system, her mouth agape. She was either looking at the world's greatest actor or the purest bit of humanity in existence.

"That's amazing. I never would have thought that a pig face like him had, well, compassion," Tyrone said. He laughed at himself. "'That which is the most beautiful is the most cutting. The hilts of swords are jeweled with jade rubies to enamor the eye of the lonely pilgrim.'" He chuckled again, though he was cut short by the girls' puzzled expressions. He scratched his neck. "It's poetry. You know how Wirt—my master, I mean—writes them and stuff."

"I've actually never read any of them," Wendy said. "Did he write that for someone?"

"Yeah, his friend Beatrice. You probably know all about that—which reminds me!" Tyrone reached into his shoulder bag, his attention so consumed with its contents that Wendy had enough time to spare Beatrice an amused glance. The girl in blue rolled her eyes and stabbed the fabric, which had started to look too much like Wirt's face.

Tyrone pulled out a thick book that he opened on his lap. "So Wirt's been hunting down the Beast and we think we have a break, but we need Beatrice's opinion on this first. I was told that since she's your personal servant that I had to get permission from you to talk to her, so can I?"

Wendy raised her chin, knowing without looking that Beatrice's thin brows were also raised with intrigue. Wendy knew that as much as she pretended to still be angry, Beatrice's bitterness could never triumph her curiosity. "What are you going to show her?" Wendy asked.

"A note left in this book. Can I see her?"

Wendy shrugged. "I don't know. Do you want to look at it, Beatrice?"

Tyrone squeaked when Beatrice placed a thoughtful finger to her chin. She tapped it slowly, basking in the servant's surprise. "Oh, I don't know," she sighed. "I don't think that idiot deserves it."

"But we _really_ need your opinion," Tyrone insisted.

Beatrice shrugged. "I'm not hunting the Beast anymore. Wirt better be able to give me something worthwhile in return for helping him."

Tyrone thought about it for a moment. "He has his poetry…" he thought aloud. His brown eyes caught the look of disgust on Beatrice face and he wiped the thought from his brain. "I would do anything in return for your help, and I mean _anything_."

"Why?" she asked. "He wouldn't do the same."

Tyrone crossed his arms over his flat chest. "Yes he would. Wirt is a really sincere and sensitive guy. He'll do whatever he can for his friends."

Beatrice sighed. Yes, Tyrone had to be the most pure and naive piece of humanity. There was a time when those exact words would have left her mouth, but now she could only shake her head in disappointment. "I don't know which Wirt you're talking about, because the Wirt I know is pretty selfish," she said. "He'll cut you off if I means keeping him and his brother safe. Anyone can tell you that."

Tyrone shook his head. "I don't know what happened between you two, but I know him too. He's not a bad guy."

"I never said he was." Beatrice placed her hand under her chin. "He just doesn't know when to stop being stubborn and to start apologizing."

"And what about you? When you going to stop being stubborn and help the poor guy out? I don't know what he did, but whatever it was couldn't have been so bad for you to be so angry at him."

"I'll be mad at who I want to be," Beatrice replied. Her voice tread the fine line between patience and anger. "If that's all you came here for, then leave. I'm not helping you." She ignored Wendy's warning glare to not overstep her position. "Just remind that idiot to stop going after the Beast before something bad happens."

He stared at her for a moment longer. His eyes were large with emotion as he watched Beatrice return her attention to her mending. He opened and closed his mouth as he tried to think of something to say. When his words failed them, he gave a sigh that sounded a little too light to be masculine. He closed his book. "I guess this trip was for nothing then," he said, placing it in his back. He rose to his feet and gave the women a brisk bow. "Goodbye, the sweet apples of Walter Endicott's eyes. One cannot hope to find a fire strong enough to warm your frigid hearts."

"Did Endicott write that?" Wendy asked.

Tyrone gave a mischievous grin. "Nope. Just me."

Wendy snorted and he took it as his cue to leave. With another crestfallen look towards Beatrice, he headed out of the room with a bowed head. The moment the door shut behind him, Wendy groaned and slouched in her chair. "That was cold, Beatrice," she said, sounding disappointed. She blew a stray strand of hair from her face. "I thought that you were totally okay with that Endicott guy now."

Beatrice shrugged as she kept her eyes on the gown. The tear was nearly gone, stitched together with a barely lighter shade of green thread, though she doubted that Wendy would ever be able to wear the satin dress in proper company again. "I am, but I still want him to apologize. He said some pretty terrible things to me."

Somehow, Wendy doubted that. She knew Tyrone would never mean to hurt anybody. "What did you do?"

Beatrice remembered that night in the woods. How her heart beat still jumped when she thought of the Beast's hollow ballad echoing in the distance and how her throat was raw from screaming. They had gone after the cursed Beast and they had become separated. Beatrice thought that the man lying in the river had been Wirt, but…

"Nothing that he can't apologize for" was her simple reply. It was curt, cutting, and vague.

Wendy raised a lazy brow, about to ask for details when she saw Beatrice's face. Her lips were pressed in frustration and the gold in her blue irises were burning with emotion. She decided that Beatrice would not understand the vague memories Tyrone had triggered no matter how much she could try to explain. "Well I think that Tyrone guy was pretty funny," she rambled, turning back to her account books. "Maybe he'll come visit again. I'm sick of spending every day with the same people." Beatrice did not reply, though it hardly mattered. Within moments, Wendy was back to her idle scribbles, frowned mouth, and dreadful feelings.

Beatrice did not notice her lady's change in mood.

Beatrice turned her face towards the window, intent on watching the birds outside when she noticed Greg. He ran across the grass field below her, laughing as he chased his frog. Bill strode in long strides behind him, smiling as the boy tackled his pet. For the first time, Beatrice noticed the strange way Bill moved. His feet seemed to point inwards, his toes at an angle. His shoulders were always set and sharp. His arms stayed at his sides, bent gently at the elbows. Everything about him was angular, save for the sincere curls of his smile.

The slightest feeling of elation tickled her chest, threatening to make her mouth mimic his. She forced it down, grumbling as she glared at his elegant stance. She wanted to say that she was still completely against another date with the man, but there was a part of her that would not mind. Another was even excited. She could not say exactly what made her feel so affectionate towards the man. She only knew that he was not as terrible as she thought he was.

Her eyes began to ache and was forced to look away from the window.

Tomorrow and for many days after that, she would see Bill Cipher.

She did not see the trap Wendy was beginning to free herself from. She did not see the snare she was setting for herself.

* * *

><p><strong>MW: <strong>Another off-schedule update. As I had stated on my writing blog, last week I had to skip the update since I had to go back and change a few aspects of the plot. This week, I was busy last night and the majority of this night. I'm actually updating this earlier than I said I would, mostly since I want to update _The Fandom _later today. I don't have a lot to say about this chapter except that I wrote this from Wendy and Beatrice's perspectives since I wanted you guys to see how other people see Mabel. Apparently, her disguise is pretty convincing, convincing enough for Wendy to start remembering a certain boy…

Once again, thank you for your support! I'll definitely see you next week!

**No Notes**

**Thank you for reading! Have a great St. Patrick's Day, mostly since I have to spend mine at a job interview…**


	9. Between Then and Now

**Chapter 9: Between Then and Now**

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><p>Mabel could not understand the point of grudges. Why spend so much energy being spiteful towards someone when you could work things better? Mabel knew that she was not immune to the cold claws of bitterness, but one could not spend his entire life spitting curses at what should have been. She preferred to work towards making amends and giving forgiveness. Not only did she find it to be infinitely healthier than brooding over the past, but she always found herself smiling afterwards.<p>

Seeing Beatrice out right refuse to help Wirt defeat the Beast—to help her find Dipper—over a silly grudge made her want to pull out what remained of her cropped hair. Something awful must have happened between them for Beatrice's eyes to light up with such fury at the very mention of helping Wirt. In the oranging light of the late afternoon, those blue irises seemed to have glowed a threatening shade of gold. Now, when she was out of the ranging of the threatening glare, Mabel realized the odd pigment was a sign for _something._Whatever it was, her amnesia locked it from her consciousness.

Again, she felt the need to tear her hair out. She was surprised that the servant leading her to the stables of the Cipher household had not noticed her growing levels of frustration. That darn amnesia! She swore that there were other memories raking its sharp nails against the mental barrier, but they couldn't break through. She first felt it when she laid eyes on Lady Wendy and now she could feel it still in the corner of her mind. Auntie Whispers had told her that she would regain her memories eventually, but the only thing she had remembered so far was a few glimpses of her adventures with Dipper. Nothing about how she came to the Unknown—just Dipper chewing on the ends of his pens, puzzling over dusty volumes, scratching the scruff of hair on his chin, scarred hands turning the wheel of his car. She was remembering, but it was nothing that would help her right now.

That Bill Cipher seemed to know more about herself than she did. His warning still ranged in her ears with all its forbearance. _You know what happens to pine trees that grow too tall? Someone goes and chops them down._She didn't want to know why he knew so much about Dipper and why his crooked smile seemed so familiar to her. She wanted this madness to end. She wanted to go home, with Dipper.

The servant took her back to the stables and a stable hand helped her saddle her stead. Her chest protested in pain when she heaved herself onto the horse. She promised herself that she would take off her stupid bindings once she was clear of the Cipher mansion.

"Tyrone!"

Or maybe not.

Greg ran up to her right as she was about to pass through the front gates. His infinite smile was matched with her thickening frown. "What are you doing here?" Mabel asked, more curious than upset. "Wirt said that you had school today."

Greg rolled his eyes. "Pssh, school? Who needs school?"

She strained a kind look. How this child reminded her of herself when she was younger! She recalled the way she held tight to doorframes whenever she had to go to school while Dipper meticulously gathered both of their backpacks. "School's pretty important, chump. If you don't go, your brains will ooze from your ears." She motioned to her saddle. "Do you want to ride with me? I was about to start headin' home."

Greg thought about it for a moment, as though he was making sure he had nothing else to do. Mabel was beginning to think that he was going to refuse her offer when he finally beamed up at her. "Sure!"

Mabel hopped off her horse and helped the boy onto the saddle. He seated him in the spot in front of her, so that she could make sure he didn't fall off in a moment of distraction. "So why are you here anyways?" Mabel asked as she pulled herself back onto the horse. She stroked the brown mane with an affectionate hand, silently promising the beast a handful of sugar cubes when they returned home.

"I have a friend here," Greg replied. "He likes to throw rocks and play with me. Plus, Beatrice is here."

She smiled as she steered them off the Cipher property at last. She nodded to the guard as he shut the wrought iron gate behind them. The _clang_echoed against her ribs, reminding her of the binder she would be forced to wear the entire ride home. The very thought made her chest ache even more. Mabel commanded herself to look at the bright side. She could now make sure that Greg gets home while finally taking the opportunity to have some alone time with him. Besides, she liked children. "I bet Wirt isn't all that fun to play with," she said.

"No, he's tons of fun to play with. He never wants to play with me, though. He likes doing his reading and music stuff instead." There wasn't a lick of sadness in Greg's voice and that made his words all the more tragic to her. Mabel made a note to make that, as Wirt's personal servant, she would kindly force him to spend some quality time with his brother.

"I have a twin brother," she said, "so I never really had that problem. He wasn't good at making friends either, so he kinda hanged with me all the time. That's the cool thing about being twins, you know—we're our own best friends." She frowned as another memory tickled her. She didn't see any visions or hear the voices of the past. Instead, she suddenly found herself swamped with a single emotion: dread.

She didn't _want_ to be Dipper's best friend, she remembered. He was too lonely, too isolated from the people who cared about them. He depended on Mabel too much. It was _suffocating_. If she didn't want him to meet new people for himself, then she at least wanted him to give her a little space. A sour taste filled her mouth. She didn't like the idea of pushing Dipper away, but a loud voice in her head demanded that she give herself room to mold a life without him in it. Oh God, how she needed the space.

"Are you and Wirt friends?" Mabel broke out of her trance as Greg looked up at her with his large eyes.

She forced a smile, hoping that he couldn't tell that it was strained. "Of course we are."

"Then why doesn't he know you're a girl?"

Her heart lunged into her stomach. Mabel swallowed what remained of her confidence, passing worried eyes down at the boy. Innocence gleamed on his face. How did he guess? She had been careful to conceal her true identity. She had never been this observant when she was his age or for many years afterwards. How did he guess? Did Lorna whisper something to another servant or was everyone only humoring her masquerade…

She shoved the treacherous thoughts from her head. Lorna would never turn on her. Mabel felt guilty for even thinking it. Greg was smarter than he seemed, so maybe he was more inclined to people than most eight year olds were. She sighed, petting the top of the boy's head. "It's a bit complicated," she told him, dropping her male voice. Greg gasped in surprise at the change, though that was not what made her skin crawl. Her voice bounced off the lonely woods with a hollow force, as if to remind her who lurked in their shadows. The Beast could be there, hearing every word she said, smiling now that it found her.

Mabel gulped and focused on the road. If the Beast was out there, she would hear the ominous singing, not the echo of her voice and the tune of the wild life. She placed her chin on the top of Greg's head. She sighed. "Wirt will know eventually. For now, let's keep this our little secret."

"Why?"

"Because it's better if Wirt doesn't know yet."

"Why?"

She heaved a heavy breath. From her experience she knew that lying to a child was the worst idea possible. Children tend to know when they are being lied to, even if they don't realize it themselves. Mabel pressed her lips. "Greg, do you know what foreigners are?" she asked.

"They're the people not from around here," he replied. "I think it's dumb to have a special name for them, especially since it doesn't make that much of a difference."

"And do you know what the Beast is?"

Greg paled. His eyes flicked emotions as his own memories swarmed him. He looked ready to cry, but the biting of the lip prevented his tears from coming. Guilt billowed in her gut as she watched him nod. What could have possibly happened to him to make him fear the Beast so? Mabel could not hide the worried look from her face, though she was sure to keep the scolding tone of her voice. "The Beast likes to go after foreigners. I'm a foreigner, Greg. I can't go home until I find my brother and, until then, I'm working for Wirt. But I don't want the Beast to find me, so I'm disguising myself until then. That's why Wirt can't know. The less people know the truth, the less likely the Beast will come after me. Do you want the Beast to come after me?"

He shook his head.

She cracked a smile. "Then promise to keep quiet about this?"

He copied her visage. His large eyes lit with glee as he bounced on the saddle. "Sure do!"

Mabel pretended to zip her lips shut and throw away the key, an action Greg mimicked happily. Mabel didn't dwell on the matter for any longer. In fact, she wanted Greg to stop looking at her with such a revered expression. She wanted him to be smiling with carelessness and singing a silly song. A grin of her own stretched across her lips. She hummed a few notes to herself and, when she was sure that Greg was listening to her, she started to sing.

_"Children have you ever met the Bogeyman before?_

_No, of course you haven't for you're much too good, I'm sure._

_Don't you be afraid of him if he should visit you._

_He's a great big coward, so I'll tell you what to do."_

The light hearted tune captured his ears as all evidence of her interrogation evaporated from his face. He looked up at her as though she was his mother, absorbing every word that that her mouth. Mabel did not let the thought ruin her happier mood, but it chewed on the corner of her mind nonetheless.

_"Hush, hush, hush, here comes the Bogeyman._

_Don't let him come too close to you, he'll catch you if he can."_

If Greg and Wirt were also foreigners, why did they never return home? They must have mothers and fathers and friends back in the real world. What kept them pinned to the Unknown?

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><p>"So we still don't know what it is." The band of frogs singing at the other side of the opulent ballroom filled the air with their tunes as Mabel gave a mute nod. Writ leaned against the wallpapered wall, sighing his disappointment. This was the fifth time he made that noise today, beginning from the moment he allowed Mabel to try her luck with Beatrice to Quincy dragging him to his impromptu party. People and animals dressed more fancily them himself swayed to the music, though not enough to be considered dancing. His tight frown had been broken when he saw how Mabel fawned over the spectacle, shaking hands with every dressed animal she could find. Then the spell had been broken by the bad news and now Mabel was looking at him with sorry brown eyes. He strained a smile, trying to salvage her happiness. "I figured as much," he said. "Howling gales never relent in their chills, no matter the strength of a fire."<p>

"But it was our only lead," Mabel whined. She folded her arms over her chest and huffed. "I bet she's just being stubborn too."

"That's Beatrice for you," Wirt said. "We'll just have to figure it out for ourselves, which means that we'll have to use our brains." He started to pace, bent at the waist as though the angle would help him think. "The rune seemed as though it had been scrawled in the book by one of its many readers, so it's likely we will not find this information elsewhere." A servant with a plate of shrimp stopped in front of them, offering them food with a refine voice. Mabel squealed and took two for herself. Wirt waved him away distractedly. "I found the book at Adelaide's house and, well, she's not available for questioning anymore. If the rune had been drawn in by hand, then it must have been very important. From the top of my head, I can presume that it's either the source of the Beast's power or its weakness." He frowned. "That leaves us with the necessity of conducting an experiment on the Beast, though we would need to find someone with an expertise in rune magic-"

"Rawr, I'm a walrus." Wirt paused, finally realizing that Mabel had hooked down shrimps to the corners of her mouth. She grinned as she held her hands before her like paws, looking quite satisfied with herself.

Wirt could not help but to snort. His hand flew to his mouth as he tried to hold back a full on laugh. "Oh, geeze, Tyrone. Act your…" He trailed off, his eyes lightening with realization. "Tyrone, you're an expert in rune magic, aren't you?"

Mabel shrugged, taking the shrimp from her mouth. "I guess I am," she answered. She could only call a few to the top of her head easily, though she had the feeling her amnesia prevented her from remembering more.

"Then you can use the fire rune for a series of experiments, right?"

She munched on a shrimp, pulling its tail from her mouth and flicking it away. She remembered the inscription of the rune, along with the words and techniques required to use them. She smiled as a flush of relief cascaded over her. "Sure do."

"Great!" He clasped her shoulders. "We'll go search for the Beast in a week and try the rune on him. You're a life saver, Tyrone!"

Mabel smiled, happy to see him so ecstatic. She wanted to pull him into a happy jig, perhaps even sing "Dancing Queen" again, when she noticed the shakiness of his visage. His lips were curled at the ends into a bright smile, but they fought to turn downwards. A new gleam filled his eyes, one that often filled Dipper's—fear.

Out of habit, Mabel pretended not to notice. She filled his silence with her chatter, being both ends of the conversation at once. However, his brooding once increased as a new wave of dread crashed over her as well. Something told her that going into those woods, seeking the Beast, would only lead to trouble. Trouble a single Pines twin could not handle alone.

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><p><strong>MW: <strong>Another late update since my life always gets in the way. If you want details, just check my blog. I always rant about it there.

Anyways, this is the end of that story arc. Obviously, the next one is focusing on going into the woods to defeat the Beast. After that, it's two chapters of buildup, and then the final arc. This isn't a long story, mostly since I'm just using this to work out how to write an older Mabel for a future fic. She's too serious right now, so as this story goes on she's definitely going to get more lighthearted. She wouldn't get exactly the way I want her to be (since it's hard for me to change what I've already set up), but it's a learning experience.

Thank you for reading! Have a nice week!

**No Notes**

**Thank you for reading! Happy Beginning of Spring! **


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